


RedFang - The Ending They Deserved

by brazenedMinstrel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Backstory, Blood, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Injury, Legislacerators, Love, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, Pirates, Rebellion, Red Romance, Redglare lives, Rescue, Revolution, Revolutionaries In Love, Shipping, The Dolorosa lives, flushed quadrant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-10-04 07:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10271264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenedMinstrel/pseuds/brazenedMinstrel
Summary: A story in which Redglare rescues Mindfang from the court block, Mindfang sees Redglare in a different light and falls in love with her. They join the second rebellion organized by the Disciple, the Summoner and the Dolorosa. Warning for graphic violence and allusions to torture.New part every other Wednesday!





	1. Prologue - poetry

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic now has an official theme song: https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/a-song-for-a-pirates-lover
> 
> I composed it.
> 
> The rights belong to me, don't steal, etc etc

RedFang - an original Homestuck headcanon  
~  
The Marquise and the Neophyte  
One’s crimes are the other’s plight  
In strife they met  
An eye burned, an arm lost  
A battle not to forget  
Justice is attained, at what cost?

Cold is the dungeon floor  
Hard is the iron-barred door  
But behind red glasses  
Two eyes see the fear  
She who arrested criminals by masses  
Now is the one to shed a tear

Pirates aren't supposed to care  
Although she saved you from this nightmare  
Willing to give up on her goal  
Taking the cut and scourge  
Perhaps you aren't the right troll  
But alive you two would emerge

Metal is the necklace hidden in your belt  
So is her arm, on your shoulder settled  
A red flag waves proud  
Above a tent of teal and cobalt blue  
Love is confessed under the sunlight’s shroud  
Tinted a beautiful red hue

A legacy, left behind  
A story, only to keep in mind  
That the ending is hidden  
In a bubble of forgotten dreams  
A new universe, two friends, together in  
What will be a grand reveal, it seems


	2. Movement 1: Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter (or movement, whatever you like to say), where I don't stray from canon yet. Mindfang and Redglare have their battle, Pyralspite burns all the ships, Spinneret loses an arm, etc. 
> 
> Next chapter coming on the 29th of March!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic now has an official theme song: https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/a-song-for-a-pirates-lover
> 
> I composed it.
> 
> The rights belong to me, don't steal, etc etc

Movement 1: Battle  
_Neophyte Redglare 1_

 

It was only a day ago you got the assignment. Arrest Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. The name made many trolls flinch, but not you. As a Legislacerator, you actually enjoyed the task. Now you are flying to the place where she has supposedly hidden her fleet. Pyralspite dives down, his clawed feet almost hit the water. He is clearly enjoying this, and you don’t mind. Just the sheer feeling of being able to fly on a dragon’s back is amazing. But you need to keep your head on your task. ‘Land there,’ you tell your lusus. He rises up through the air before settling on a hill overlooking the sea. It’s true what the other pirate said, her fleet is here. ‘Well, how many ships do you count? I see eighty.’

 _You seem to be right_ , Pyralspite answers. His deep voice sounds ever so clearly in your mind. ‘Her personal ship is called the “Spider’s Claw”. Can you see it from here?’

His eyesight is better than yours. He heaves his white head and soon says: _the biggest ship of all, the one furthest out to sea._

‘Great,’ you murmur. You’re going to have to pass all seventy-nine other ships to get to her. Does she know that you’re coming for her? With a sigh you turn to the dragon. ‘Looks like there’s only one way to do this.’

Of course he knows what you mean. He has seen it in your mind before you spoke. So you climb on his back again, and when he rises into the sky, you hear the commotion on the ships. It is too tempting not to speak again, even though you don’t need to. You grin. A crazy, sharp-toothed grin. ‘Pyralspite, burn the ships.’

When he unleashes jets of roaring flame, you hear the pirates scream. Unphased, you urge your lusus to fly to the Spider’s Claw. When you hang still in the air in front of it, Mindfang is on deck. A black shadow amongst the red fire. You climb onto Pyralspite’s head and shout with all of the volume that you can muster up: ‘Marquise Spinneret Mindfang! If you surrender to me now and come with me to court, I will quench the flames and your fleet will not burn further!’ You really hope your voice is hearable over the roar of the fire. It must be, the pirate turns to you.

‘Neophyte Redglare, if you think I will let my fleet burn without acting you are wrong!’ She barely has to yell. Her deep and breathy voice unsettles you. ‘Come down from that beast and fight me, then we will see who luck favors today!’

With a sigh, you give Pyralspite a little pat. ‘We’re doing this the hard way, it seems.’ Then you jump down onto the deck of her ship.

_Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 1_

You draw your sword, a curved blue blade with a hook halfway down the length. The Neophyte carries a long white staff, the end wrought into the shape of a dragon’s head. She set your ships aflame, your ships that you thought were safely hidden. You can’t believe that Dualscar told the Grand Highblood everything. Even the location of this cove, your most secluded hiding place. Redglare points the end of her staff at you and you see her right leg glide back over the deck into a battle stance. This woman knows what she’s doing. With a stretched-out hand you try to get a grip on her mind. You frown and concentrate every one of the seven little pupils in your left eye on it. But her head is like an unenterable maze. By the time you realize that, she has jumped at you. You block her staff and slash back. Almost elegantly, she dodges your low sweep and turns on her left heel. The right one hits your stomach before you see it. The air is sucked out of your lungs and Redglare’s staff swishes at your head. Rolling over the wooden planks, you get up and attempt to grab the thing. You’re easily a head bigger than her, so perhaps you could force the weapon out of her hand. But she is simply too fast. Clicking the staff open, it reveals two hidden blades. With one in each hand she charges at you. You grab the rope of the big sail and with a swing you get out of her reach. Standing on the railing, you hope you can corner her against the cabin of the ship. Then she brings one red leather-gloved hand to her head and for a split second, you’re afraid to get a taste of the other side of mind-control. Then a rustle of scales behind you causes you to turn. One glowing red eye looks in yours. Averting your head from the piercing death-glare, you scream as a burning pain spreads through your most sensitive eye. As you fall off the railing onto the deck, the Neophyte places her boot on your chest. ‘Give up Marquise, you can’t win.’

In those obnoxious red pointed glasses of hers you see your reflection. Your left eye looks solid red, unlike the yellow right one. You can’t see out of it anymore. But you still have your blade. Hooking your arm around her heel you throw her off your chest. She unfortunately lands on her feet. Your blue sword hits her in the chest, but instead of ripping through her red shirt and drawing some beautiful teal blood it bounces off. There’s a hidden layer of armor built into her uniform. She forces your sword-arm down with one of her blades and the other one swirls in a white arc through the air. It hits your left arm and goes straight through cloth, flesh and bone. In the middle of your scream you hear it hitting the deck. Cobalt blue blood is suddenly everywhere on your clothes. When you sink onto your knees, the Neophyte grabs you hair and pulls your head back. Not caring for the blood gushing out of your severed stump she says: ‘In the name of the Law, I, Neophyte Redglare, arrest you.’

Instead of a spiteful comment, all that comes out of your mouth is more blood. You feel yourself falling. And falling… and falling through an endless tunnel of darkness.


	3. Movement 2: Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And down into the dungeons we go, darker and darker.
> 
> (This is where things get (more than) a little graphic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic now has an official theme song: https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/a-song-for-a-pirates-lover
> 
> I composed it.
> 
> The rights belong to me, don't steal, etc etc

_Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 1_

 

Hard stone is what you feel next. Hard, cold stone. As you try to get up, pain flares through your body. You remember. The battle, that red, blinding stare of the dragon, the Neophyte’s blade. A filthy bandage is all that’s wrapped around where your left arm once was. Blue blood is already seeping through it, you can’t have been out for long. Managing to sit upright against the wall, your hear a chain scrape against the stone. A shackle connects your right arm to the wall of your cell. Your remaining eye falls on your clothes. They’re not yours. Instead of beautiful, sturdy black and blue garments, you’re wearing some kind of dirty prison rags. Your feet are bare, no bright red boots anymore. Even your hat is gone. Through a small barred window far above your head shines a little light. Suddenly there’s someone standing on the other side of the, of course barred, door. The Neophyte is back.

 

‘Well, Marquise, you don’t look so good now,’ she says. That ridiculous forced grin is still on her face. Oh, how badly do want to punch it off. And preferably her entire head too. You get as close to the door as the chain allows you to. She adjusts her glasses slightly and says: ‘The judges have charged you with multiple offenses on which a death sentence lies. Tomorrow you will be trialed, if I were you, I would confess guilt.’ It sounds like a message she’s given many supposed “criminals” before you.

 

‘Never!’ you spit at her.

 

‘I thought your answer would be something like that. I suppose I can just leave this right here then.’ She puts down a lump of what looks like bread down before the bars of the door and a small metal watercan too. You can’t reach over to it, the chain is too short. Not that you attempt that until she has walked away though. If there’s anything you can do now,  it’s remain strong and proud. But that doesn’t stop you from spending a good deal of the following night trying to get at the food. Your stomach rumbles. And the hard floor doesn’t make for a good bed.

 

The following morning two different Legislacerators pull you to your feet. They unlock your chain from the wall and connect it to a short length of wood one of them holds. Then they prod you with it until you walk in between them to the site of your trial. They make you kneel on a wooden platform in the middle of the open courtroom. The gallows are visible behind the Neophyte’s small stage. Your head is numbed because of the lack of sleep and food, you barely hear the charges the Neophyte reads against you. Something with trollslaughter, piracy and attacking an Agent of Justice. The only thing you reply when she asks for your answer to the Court’s decision is: ‘Innocent.’

 

Her laugh cuts through your ears and rings in your mind. ‘You are too proud Marquise. That will not do you much good.’

 

‘Perhaps if you would give me some reasonable food, I will be able to make up a more elaborate reason for my innocence.’

 

She snorts. ‘We will see to your needs, Marquise. Maybe.’ Then she orders the other legislacerators to take you away.

_Neophyte Redglare 1_

With a deep sigh you lock the door of your quarters. This woman is so tiring. The small apartment you have close to the main building of the courtblock is cold for the time of the sweep. You move to the hearth to light a fire and then sink into a chair. Letting your tired muscles rest, you think back to the battle. The Marquise was talking about luck right before you two fought. Luck, as if that’s a real thing. Although now that you think about it, you might say that you’ve gotten _lucky_ that you haven’t got any serious injuries. A bruise on your shoulder from when she threw you against the railing of her ship is all that the battle has left on you. Your pointed glasses haven’t done you much good today. It is so difficult to hide your emotions in front of someone like Mindfang. The sheer pride with which she does everything brings you so close to laughter even now. His words sound in your mind: ‘I think that square glasses would only suit you if you had longer hair.’

 

How did he know your name? Your blood color? Where your hive once stood? There are still so many mysteries surrounding this man. Perhaps you will get to know the answers to your questions once. Perhaps on the sixth day of the next perigee. With difficulty you get up and stretch your sore legs. You already reported that you want dinner at your quarters for tonight. Sure, you could cook something better, but neither your mind or body is up for that. Someone raps on your door. ‘A dinner for Neophyte Redglare?’

 

You open and take the food. Then you thank the actual _neophyte_ who brought it to you. Nicknames tend to stick to people. That makes you wonder who gave the Marquise hers. As you seat yourself at your small table and enjoy your meal you remember that it’s your turn for night guard this night. Luckily it only lasts half the night. But you still don’t like it much. You want a nice long rest, not a duty that consists of standing in the cold and staring at the horizon for four hours. Grabbing your staff and glasses, you prepare to leave for guard. As you position yourself on the wall above the gates, a scream sounds below you in the dungeons. The previous guard is just leaving. ‘She’s been going on like that for some time now,’ he says. ‘I hope for you she shuts up soon. You don’t seem proud of your victory, Redglare.’

 

‘I’m not proud,’ you reply. ‘The Marquise was a difficult opponent and I am happy I succeeded in apprehending her, but that’s all.’ After a little pause you add: ‘And I do hope she stops yelling.’

 

‘Well, not everyone can take the irons.’ Your colleague makes his way downstairs. The customary red he wear over his olive-colored clothes almost glows in the torch light. You’ve always thought that the olive bloods are unfortunate when it comes to the uniforms. Your own teal suits the red much better. Unfortunately for your ears, it takes at least half an hour before a last, choked scream ends the annoying noise from the dungeons. She must have fallen unconscious. Because you arrested her, it’s your duty to bring her food before you return to your apartment. If she’s as haughty as the night before, you might put it in front of the bars once again. She will have to confess soon. The judges have already set a date for her execution and the only thing she will get out of her confession now is a quick death by beheading. Otherwise the noose is waiting for her and that’s by far not as pleasant. When the next guard turns up for duty you head downstairs to the cells. Filling a small can with water and grabbing a lump of bread you muse about how she will react. Perhaps she won’t even be conscious and all you have to do is put the food inside her cell. But she is fully awake when you reach her secluded cell. You notice that because of her rapid breathing, she has her back turned to the bars.

 

‘Miiiindfang,’ you sing-song when you open her cell. You enjoy her startled reaction, although both of you try to hide it. She does her best attempt at hiding her fear, you your satisfaction. Her long black tresses are now a tangled mess. But even like this she could have looked intimidating, if you didn't know what your colleagues have done when you were on guard. When putting the food down on the floor, you keep one of your blades aimed at her, just in case she wants to surprise you. But it’s the food she attacks, not you. Stuffing as much of the dry bread into her mouth as possible, she clearly doesn’t care about showing that she’s famished. You spy a new patch of blue on her rags, close to her shoulder and when she’s gulping down the water, the shackle around her wrist slides down her arm a bit to reveal an open burn. She kicks the can over the floor when it’s empty. You quickly reach forward and slap her hard across the face with your gloved hand. ‘That’s for making my ears hurt.’

 

Her red eye glares at you when she says: ‘Sorry for your sensitive ears, Neophyte. Perhaps if you’d cut them off you won’t hear me anymore.’

 

‘Cutting your ears off doesn’t make you deaf.’ Immediately after you’ve said that you mentally curse. That was not the reaction she is supposed to be able to evoke from you. ‘I again advise you to confess, or more of that will follow.’

 

She sputters something insulting and you squat down to be at her height. ‘Or perhaps there’s something else we can do to make you admit guilt?’

 

Her laugh is surprisingly loud. ‘No Redglare, there’s nothing I care about so much that you can use it against me.’

 

‘Your life?’ you suggest.

 

‘My life has been great.’

 

‘Maybe we can find something at your hive, we’ve got a pretty good lead to its location.’ That is something you make up right there. Mindfang’s hive is undoubtedly well hidden and the court won’t spend time looking for it. But you see a flicker of doubt in her eye. Then she says: ‘Go ahead and try, the only thing you’ll find there is dust.’

  
‘I’m sure of that,’ you say. ‘Dust and many, many other things.’ 

_Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 2_

 At least half of whoever they’ve sent to look for your hive will die because of your traps. And the path up to the cliff where you’ve built it. You just have to trust your own safety measures. But there’s something in the way the Neophyte said it that gives you the creeps. Not that you can do anything about it now. When you close your eyes, you see her face. Those long, pointed horns and that short black hair. You wonder if she has to style the points to fan outwards like that. To try and relieve your shoulder a bit you prop yourself against the wall. Now the metal shackle cuts into the burn on your wrist. There’s literally no way you can sit comfortably. If you lay your arm across your lap to stop the shackle from pushing against that burn you stretch the wound in your shoulder. And when you try to rest on your other side… well, your missing arm hurts so much that you can’t rest on that side. At least there’s some food in your stomach now. You wonder when the Neophyte will bring you more. Or if she’s the first person to stop by your door for that matter. Soon your thoughts go back to your hive. It has been at least three sweeps since you’ve last been there. That was when you needed to get a new blade. You wonder where it is now. Maybe you could mind-control someone into bringing you your possessions. Your dice would also be useful now, but it's unlikely that you will ever get the Doc’s last present back. They're most likely going to lie on the bottom of the sea forever. You despise Redglare for making you lose those. And you also know that she is shrewd enough not to send anyone to your cell who is susceptible to mind control. You hate that woman so much. In better times she would’ve been a nice new black lover. Now she’s a real threat. You try to lie down on your back and yelp when your badly bandaged arm hits the ground. You won’t sleep long tonight, if at all. The sound that wakes you is the very same sound as yesterday. The Neophyte’s sing-song voice saying your name. She remains behind the barred door this time. ‘Slept well?’

 

You make a futile attempt at turning away from her, entangle your hair in the chain and fail to stifle a cry when it’s almost pulled out. She laughs and you hear the leather of her boot creak as she leans closer to the bars. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

 

‘Well, what could that be.’ You turn to your assailant. She’s holding her white staff in one hand. At least, you think that’s what it is, until she hisses:

 

‘It turns out that there was more than dust at your hive. Our search party found something very, very different.’  

 

Fear slowly squeezes your throat shut. They can’t have found… or maybe… You force yourself to make another snappy comment, even though your voice starts to sound really squeaky. ‘Sure, why don’t you give me the gold you found back already?’

 

‘Gold? Oh, why no Marquise.’ Redglare’s crazy smile returns to her face. ‘This is something you cherish much more than treasure.’ She holds the thing in her hand into the sparse light. A white bone. There’s some dark blue blood on one end. You can’t do anything else but let go of an anguished cry. ‘No!’

 

‘Yes.’ She drops the bone in front of the bars. You cringe when it hits the ground. ‘Don’t you worry, it’s still alive. And maybe it will stay so. If you confess.’

 

You turn your head away from her. It’s all you can do to not show her your tears. When her footsteps have faded from the hallway you reach out to it. But just like the food, it’s too far away. The shackle cuts deep into your wrist and it draws more cobalt blood. You have to stop. You can’t get to it. She’s somehow guessed the thing you care about more than your own life. They have succeeded in breaking you. They have captured your lusus. You think of where it could be, in what kind of circumstances. Is it close to you? No, it can’t be, otherwise you would’ve heard it. _Redglare refrains from absolutely nothing,_ you think. _She even goes as far as hurting my completely innocent lusus._ That’s a thing you’re sure of. You might be what the Judges see as “guilty”, but your custodian has never done anything wrong. But how could it? It’s so small, and harmless. When you close your eyes you can almost see it. Huddled in a corner of some filthy cell. You’re afraid you’re going to throw up when you imagine the Neophyte ripping off one of its legs. Slowly rocking your body back and forth in pain, you try not to think about the myriad of agonizing things in your mind.   

  _Neophyte Redglare 2_

You can’t shove the guilty feeling away. As you enter your office within the courtblock and throw your gloves on the table you think back to the utterly terrified look of the Marquise. The pure horror in her eye. You know she has tried to grab the bone from behind the bars. You were able to see her cell from a niche in the wall, just beyond what she could see from the inside. You eye the pot of dark blue coloring that’s still on the sink in the left corner of your room. The bone was from your dinner yesterday evening. In fact, you don’t have a clue of what Mindfang’s lusus looks like. But with the dim light in the cellblock you figured that it wouldn’t matter much. Someone enters. ‘Neophyte Redglare, would you perhaps like to attend Mindfang’s next trial?’

 

‘I’ll refrain,’ you say to the indigoblood who’s standing in the open door now. ‘It’s difficult enough for her without me standing around. And remember that it's not a trial. There's a difference between trying to make her confess with the irons and a trial.’

 

He leaves again. And you’re back to feeling guilty. You never thought that someone like the Marquise harboured such strong feelings for her lusus. Hell, you never thought that she had such protective feelings in the first place. You can’t feel any sort of sympathy for her, you tell yourself. She’s a criminal. One who’s too stubborn for her own good. A faint scream echoes through your open door. And the sound of a strap of leather swishing through the air. You slam the door shut. That guy never locks doors. _Come on Redglare, you can’t be this fed up with yourself about her,_ you think. ‘Stupid lousy no good pirates,’ you mutter aloud.

 

That evening you when you walk down to the cells you still feel bad. You select the biggest piece of dry bread from the shelf and tap the water can as full as you can. ‘Marquise,’ you say softly when you open the door of her cell. She’s lying with her back to the door and doesn’t react. ‘I’ve got food.’ The sound the can makes when you put it down seems too loud for your ears. She still doesn’t make a sound. ‘You’re not asleep, are you?’

 

No, she’s clearly not. When you lean over to see her, you notice that her face is a mess of blue. Several lashes stretch across her cheeks and nose. Her yellow and red eyes glisten in the faint light. Her fanged mouth is opened a little and you see some blue blood trickling down over her chin. For a few seconds you stare at each other. Then you turn on your heels and almost run back to your office. God, you cannot believe yourself! Why in the world do you feel this empathy for her? She would have killed you if she'd had the chance. You spend a good amount of time with your hands in your hair and your elbows resting on the table. Then you see the letter. A message from the Grand Highblood. Well, not written by him, of course. It says that he wants to get Mindfang off his hands. You have to make her confess or else he’ll execute her anyways. And use her blood as paint for on his walls. She gives too much trouble. Your sigh, it seems that you have to keep up this charade a little longer.

 

Next day, when two colleagues bring her to the small chamber in which you are to interrogate her further, she looks even worse than yesterday. Badly disheveled and judging by her black eye, she has struggled when told that she would have to face more interrogations. When she's sitting on the opposite side of the table you tell her: ‘There's only one word you need to say if you want to make this quick. Guilty. Your execution will be in three days. If you say that word, your death will be by axe, swift and painless. If you are still too stubborn to admit guilt it will be by noose. I have seen trials in which it took a full minute for the criminal to die.’ It's the same message as you've given so many criminals before her, but this still feels different. She doesn't reply to the way you've summed up her death, but asks: ‘Could you read the sentence against me once more?’

 

You comply and pick up the paper in front of you. When you’re saying ‘‘the keeping of slaves”, she says: ‘Since when is that illegal?’

 

‘It isn’t, but only for the three highest blood castes. Fuchsia, Violet and Purple. If I am not mistaken, you are two castes below that.’ You try to sound polite.

 

‘Those were Dualscar’s slaves, not mine.’

 

You sigh. That isn’t a fact you can check. Even though you know they weren't only the slaves of the Orphaner. Therefore you must skip over that point in her sentence. You tell her: ‘Perhaps you will confess if I tell you this: your lusus is free to go if you do. In fact, we will bring it to the brooding caverns where it can select a new grub that will hopefully grow up to be a better person than you. If you still insist you're innocent, it will die on the same day as you. And it will die first. You go after it.’

 

Her eye flicks rapidly through the room. You will just have to tell her that the lusus already died or something on the day of the execution. ‘Bring me back to my cell,’ she says. You hear the tears in her voice and for a second you feel incredibly cruel.

 

‘Are those your final words, Marquise?’

 

‘Yes.’

 

She is very silent when you bring her back to the dungeons. You don't have to urge her to walk on or anything. You see that she hasn't eaten the bread you bought her or drank of the water. When you fasten her shackle to the wall you suggest that she does so. In response she asks if she can see her lusus. Even if you had it, the rules wouldn't permit that. You tell her this, and she makes a sound that is very close to crying. You're really glad that you have your glasses on now. Suddenly she grabs her stump and cries out. You carefully touch the bandage and feel the heat coming off it. In your head you curse the idiot who has put that gross thing on her arm. ‘Leave me, Neophyte,’ she snaps at you.

 

Wordlessly you get up and walk out of her cell. You can't assist her in any way. Now you are the one who's close to tears. Maybe her stubborn behavior is just because of how the other Legislacerators have beaten her. But the more you try to tell yourself that, the more you know it's not true. Words can sting more than lashes with a leather whip and cut deeper that red-hot knives. And the way you can just drive her into hysterics is almost too easy. The fact that you know exactly where to prick to turn her mind into a mess… it feels wrong. You notice the same olive blood who was on guard a few days ago and ask him: ‘Could you bring me the Marq- I mean, Mindfang’s clothing and belongings? She needs to wear them on the day of her execution. And please bring me a new backpack too. I’ve been assigned to a field mission immediately after her trial. It’s a good idea to pack already. Just leave everything in my office.’

 

He says he’ll bring all of that to your office and it'll be there by the following morning. Assured, you go to your quarters. After you've grabbed your own backpack from your closet, you strap your small tent to it. Field missions are a lousy excuse and the tent is heavy. But perhaps it will come in handy. Wherever the ones you're traveling to are now, you aren't sure if they have a sleeping place for you. With somewhat of a sigh, you lay down on your bed and grab a small, brown book from under your mattress. You start to read. When you're about three pages further someone raps in your door. ‘Redglare?’

 

Quickly hiding the book, you say: ‘Yes?’

 

‘The items you requested are in your office.’ It's the troll you asked to bring them there.

 

‘Thank you,’ you say. Then you get up and lock the door. When you open the book again on the first page you read:

 

_Lee kell vell are vey til lit_

 

 _‘_ But we are forgiven,’ you whisper. ‘Will you forgive me, Marquise?’

 

When you've read about half of the book you're tired enough to sleep. You switch to your nightclothes and before long, you close your eyes.

 

‘Neophyte! Neophyte Redglare!’

 

You shoot upright. ‘What?’

 

Someone's knocking on the door. ‘You have to come! It's Mindfang, she sounds like she's in pain!’

 

The night guard. You slip from under the blankets. ‘Don't come in, I'm dressing. Tell me what happened,’ you instruct him while jumping up and down on one foot to pull your pants up. He tells you that he has gone down to the dungeon to see what the noise was about, then he heard her-

 

Before he can talk on you say: ‘I told everyone: don't go down there or she'll mind-control you into freeing her!’

 

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I didn't go to her cell. I realized that it would be a better idea to get you.’

 

‘Good.’ You slap your glasses onto your face and run with him to the courtblock. While he goes up to his post again you race down the stairs. It's silent there. When you get to Mindfang’s cell you see her huddled into the furthest corner of the room. You open the door and she tries to curl up even more. ‘What's wrong?’ you ask. As she turns her head to you to speak, she cringes.

 

‘S-stomach… hurts.’

 

You take a quick look at the water can. She still hasn't drunk any. In an attempt to hide every emotion you feel, you say with a staccato voice: ‘Mindfang you're an idiot. You have to drink that water I brought you. The only thing you feel now is lack of water.’

 

She turns to the wall again. ‘I'm not thirsty.’

 

That's the limit. You grab her by the throat and make no attempt at hiding your anger. Her breath smells terrible when you're way too close to her face as you hiss: ‘I'm going to stay here until you've emptied that fucking can! Don't make this any more difficult for yourself than it already is.’

 

All the resistance seems to seep out of her as she almost robotically reaches for the can. When she has taken a good gulp you let her go. She unexpectedly grabs the front of your shirt. ‘Redglare… I have to… I have to see it. My lusus,’ she says. No, she pleads. The desperate look on her face almost causes you to tell her that you don't have it. But apparently she thinks you’re doubting, because she adds: ‘I'll give you the locations of my treasure. I'll tell you! Please!’

 

‘Even if I wanted to take you to it-’ you are having so much trouble keeping your voice level now. ‘- the rules wouldn't permit me to.’ You shove her off you. ‘Now drink that goddamn water. This is the last time I intend on seeing before your execution. Don't bother me with any more of this stupid shit! No pleading anymore, no refusing to eat or drink and don't think about making your last two days here any harder then they already are going to be.’

 _Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 3_   

As the clacking of Redglare’s boots fades from the hallway, you slowly sink to the ground. Just two days you have left to live. And you can't admit guilt. What would it matter now? Your lusus will live, it can go and attempt rearing another grub. But if you keep denying, and the Neophyte already asked if those were your last words, you can at least spend your last moments with it. And will it succeed in raising another troll after this tragedy? You highly doubt it. Blue tears stain your cheeks. They mix with the blood on your chin. The lashes across your face from where the Legislacerators hit you with the leather whip sting when the salt water trickles over them. Luckily they didn't go on for long. It wasn't as bad as the time they cut you with a red-hot knife. And still you didn't confess. You can't help but feel a little proud of yourself. That feeling quickly dissipates as you realize that you didn't snap because of the blades that broke your body. It were the Neophyte’s words that broke your mind. How did she guess? You can't wrap your tired head around her mindgames. In the middle of the next night you suddenly snap awake. You thought you heard scuttling. Like the sound your lusus makes when it walks. But the haunting silence in the cell reveals that it's only your fevered head playing tricks on you. But then you see her. A greenish shadow in your cell. Within a second, her face is an inch from yours. Her eyes flash in multicolored lights. In one hand she holds a white wand. ‘Demoness,’ you hiss.

 

She leans in even closer, your noses are almost touching each other now. ‘Judge it. You're not child anymore,’ she says. ‘Learn to know. What drives you. And her, it is same thing.’

 

‘This isn’t the moment to bother me with your gobbledygook.’ You haven't seen her since that one second she stood on the prow of your ship the night Dualscar left you. She always turns up at the worst moments to spin riddles into your head that make a startling amount of sense. When you finally understand them. At least your oracle was a tiny bit more reliable. And that haunting night when she appeared in your cabin. That night, after your most special slave had died…

 

‘Fear… you shall not have to fear her,’ she says while bringing her wand slowly up to your temple.

 

‘Shut up! I'm dying within two days. I won't have to fear nobody!’

 

‘Do you remember? What the Doc said about love?’

 

‘Love? That I'll… no, that's not happening!’

 

‘Yes, it is, Ar-’

 

You attempt to get away from her. ‘Don't call me that!’

 

She taps the wand against your head. In a flash of light, everything fades to white.

 

The cell door slams shut. You shoot upright again. By the time your eye has adjusted to the darkness whoever was here is already gone. A new metal can and a new lump of bread lie on the floor. Has Redglare brought those? When you've eaten the bread, way too fast, you reach for the can. But your right hand is shaking so much that you drop it. All the water splashes on the ground. ‘Hey!’ you shout into the corridor. ‘Bring me a new can of water!’

 

But no one comes. You yell until your throat is sore. Then you slump onto the ground. You feel your blood pump in your stump. Then you think about how Redglare ran her finger over the bandage yesterday. Surprisingly carefully. You curl up into a little ball and hope to get some more sleep.

A key jingles in the lock. You wake up again from your feverish half-sleep, but you don’t open your eyes yet. The hinges creak when someone pushes the barred door open. A soft footstep, then a few seconds of eerie silence. You only notice that it’s her again when the touch of leather against your cheek forces your eyes open. She isn’t wearing her glasses, which you find odd. It dawns on your that you’ve never even seen her eyes. Like any tealblood’s, the iris is colored like the middling blood in her veins. When you see a flash of metal, you inevitably cringe. Then, to your unequaled surprise, the shackle around your right wrist falls to the ground. The loud noise seems to startle her, and it takes some time before she moves again. A single finger strokes the skin of your hand, under the nasty burn that the irons left on your wrist. It’s enough to make you whimper. She asks in a whisper: ‘Can you stand?’ 

As a reply you grab the wall for support and try to get up, only to fail terribly. With a soft cry you fall back into a sitting position. 

 

‘Marquise, you have to stand,’ she says, more urgently this time. When she talks with a little volume, her grating voice is too loud for your ears again. It’s like eight hundred pinpricks, stinging in your hear ducts. She stretches out an arm for support. ‘Lean on me if you need to.’ 

 

Instead of complying, you ask: ‘Where are you taking me?’ The hoarseness of your own voice scares you. But then again, that’s not that surprising since you haven’t had water since yesterday. 

 

‘You’ll see.’ This time she just grabs your good shoulder and drapes your only arm over her shoulder. Leaning on the smaller Legislacerator, you get to your feet. When you two have shuffled to the bars she says: ‘Now you have to walk.’ 

 

‘Where are we going?’ you again demand to know. 

 

‘I said, walk!’ She gets out one of her blades and pricks you in the back. You start to walk down the dark corridor. Behind you, the dimming light tells you that Redglare is putting out every torch as she walks on. ‘Go left here,’ she says. You shuffle into the narrower corridor until she tells you to hold still. ‘Stand with your face to the wall and don’t move.’ 

 

You want to reply that you’re not to be commanded by her, but refrain from doing so. The blade in her hand is undoubtedly just as sharp as the day you felt its bite. She opens a door and gestures you to get in. As she closes the door behind you and lights three lanterns inside the room she explains: ‘My office.’ 

 

‘So what are you going to do now? Torture me some more?’  

 

‘I never tortured you, Marquise. I interrogated you, the other Legislacerators did the rest. In fact, I wasn’t even there when you got those.’ She points at the burns on your wrist. Then she locks the door behind her and nods to a chair. ‘Sit down.’ 

 

You begrudgingly sit down and snap at her that you weren't able to see that because your eyes were full of tears. You glance around. On the far side of the room, the Neophyte is tapping some water from a small sink. The few cupboards are stocked with rows of books. A few of the titles tell you that they’re mostly law books and manuals for those who pursue justice. Such dry literature. On the dark wooden table in front of you, two uneven lumps of something stand. You move the lantern over to see that they are in fact two backpacks. Over the other chair on the opposite side of the table hang some clothes. ‘Well, then what are you going to do?’ you ask. 

 

‘For now, I’m going to hope you shut your trap. Then I’m going to wait until that-’ she points to a big hourglass on the desk next to the backpacks. ‘- is empty. And then… I’ll set you free.’ 

 

The only thing you can do is gasp. ‘What?’ 

 

‘Set. You. Free,’ she repeats. With a louder  _ clack _ that necessary she puts a box down on the table. ‘So, since you were complaining about the work of my colleagues earlier on… where?’ She opens the box and reveals bandages and more first-aid supplies.

 

With the first grin you permit yourself in all the time that you’ve been captured you sum your “complaints” up for her: ‘Well, first of all, a red-hot iron locked around my only good arm tends to hurt a bit, you know. So does a razor sharp knife in your shoulder and a strip of leather repeatedly whacked against your face.’ You pause thoughtfully and enjoy the disdain on her face. ‘Am I forgetting something? Why yes, that beautiful blade of yours through a perfectly good arm isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world either. And that-’ You can’t help but letting a sliver of admiration seep into your voice. ‘- absurdly powerful lusus of yours can do a lot of damage to a sensitive eye.’ 

 

‘And here I hope you’d shut up.’ She takes out a couple pots of salve. ‘If I touch one sore spot, the great Mindfang will soon be a screaming, pleading mess again.’ 

 

‘You heard…?’ 

 

‘My dear Marquise, everyone in the entire courtblock was able to hear you yell. Even before I told you that we-’ 

 

In the weirdness of the moment you forgot about  _ that _ . Rising from the chair, you stand face to face with her as you spit at her: ‘You better not hurt it any more yet!’ You raise your voice. ‘Where is my lusus?’ 

 

‘We never had it.’ She pushes you back into the chair. ‘It was a ruse, to make you confess. Also, we never found out where your hive is, so how could we have gotten our hands on it? Now where was I?’  

 

As she concentrates on the first-aid kit again you try to sigh in relief as quietly as you can.  _ She’s safe,  _ you think.  _ No one has gotten their grubby hands on my custodian.  _ Unlike you, your lusus couldn’t have survived in these horrible conditions. As Redglare instructs you to put you arm on the table, a small smile stretches the corners of her mouth. You look around the room once more. On one of the middle planks of the cupboard lie her pointed glasses. Perhaps she saw you looking, because she says: ‘I used to have square ones. Until someone said that these would fit me better.’ 

 

‘Who said that to you?’ 

 

‘Is this what all pirates do? Try to weasel seemingly unimportant details out of a person’s mouth? To blackmail them with later?’ 

 

‘Never mind then. Why do you wear glasses anyways?’ 

 

‘Sometimes I prefer to hide my eyes. From the criminals, the crowds and the judges. Eyes are a portal into the mind of someone. Like when I told you we had your lusus. Your eyes shot open in terror and your pupils dilated in fear. And all of that while you were clearly trying not to show any emotions.’ She carefully picks up your arm at the elbow and starts dabbing the burns with a wad of cloth she dipped in the salve. You do your best not to make a sound, but another sigh escapes your mouth as a blissful, soothing feeling takes over the pain. 

 

‘Don’t worry, I know how that feels,’ the Neophyte says. ‘I packed some in your backpack too.’ 

 

‘Oh, that’s mine?’ 

 

‘Yes. Everything you had on you when I captured you is in there, plus some first-aid supplies, an extra blanket, a sleeping bag and a two-week field ration that the Legislacerators get when they go out into the open. And your clothes are there.’ She points to the other chair. You recognize the dark blue lining of your coat now. ‘Except that preposterous hat, that’s strapped to the backpack.’ 

 

A quick glance at the hourglass tells you that there’s at least as much time left as you’ve spend in Redglare’s office now. She puts a soft bandage around your wrist and moves on to your shoulder. Telling you that the knife didn’t cut that deep, she swiftly cleans it and wraps it in another bandage. ‘Maybe you’d like to clean your face yourself,’ she says while handing you a damp towel. Having done that, she frowns when looking into your red eye. ‘No, that’s burned too far. I can’t do anything about that. But I heard you pirates love eyepatches.’ 

 

The prospect of an eyepatch is certainly appealing to you. But perhaps a man who knows his way with mechanics can do something about it. Clenching your teeth as she cares for the slashes that the leather strap left across your face, you make a comment about her sudden change in attitude. 

 

‘Don’t question my motives, Mindfang,’ is the only thing she says. Then she curses softly. ‘Good grief, which idiot bandaged this?’ 

 

‘I can’t recall. I believe I was unconscious. That could’ve been caused by a certain small troll with - ah!’ You fail to stifle a scream when she unwraps your stump. Suddenly you keel over, the ground approaching fast as darkness creeps up from the corners of your eye. 

 

‘Marquise, you still there?’ A hand taps your forehead lightly. You find yourself lying on the floor yet again. The Neophyte is bent over you, she looks concerned. This time you don’t wait with answering: ‘Yes. What did you-’ 

 

‘Do? I just tried to get that days-old bandage off your arm and then you suddenly fell over.’ She helps you get up again and you notice the clean, white fabric now wrapped around your arm. ‘I’ll look the other way,’ Redglare says and hands you your clothes before walking over to the cupboard and turning her back to you. You throw the prison rags you were forced to wear on the ground and put on the clean, dark trousers. Luckily, you were allowed to keep your own underwear. Next is the light beige cotton shirt and the heavy black vest. While putting on the clothes you notice that your boots shine and no blood stains your coat. It even looks like she repaired the slashed sleeve of your left arm. Putting on your bright red boots, you tell her that she can look again. Actually  _ thanking  _ her for all of this is still off-limits for you though. She puts down two bowls, then seats herself on the opposite side of the table. ‘Oats soaked in water. The same stuff is amongst the food in the rations. I packed enough for you to make at least ten bowls. You just need to add some water.’ 

 

‘I hope you actually packed a bowl?’ 

 

‘Yes. Without fancy engravings, but I hope it will do for the Marquise of the High Seas.’ 

 

Oh, how badly do you want to stuff as much of the food in your mouth as possible. She knows how famished you are and clearly can’t suppress a smile. Remembering your manners in time, you eat with as much dignity as your one arm allows you to. She also gives you a cup. ‘This is against the fever. You have to drink all of it.’

 

You bring the cup to your mouth and almost gag. The liquid is very bitter. But you manage to get it down. 

 

‘Remember-’ the Neophyte says. ‘- you need to apply both the disinfectant I packed for you and that salve to your stump every day. And change the bandage twice a day. Then you have a reasonable chance that it won't start infecting.’ 

 

As soon as you’re finished she gets up. ‘Time,’ she says and nods to the hourglass. With a quick and decisive movement she puts her glasses in the side pocket of her backpack. ‘Don your blade, I can’t say for sure that you won’t need it.’ 

 

You only see the sheath and weapon now, lying under your backpack. As you strap it to your belt, she explains: ‘We’re leaving at the guard shift. So one moment, the one I’m aiming for, there will be no guards in the courtblock, the next there will be twice as many for a short time.’ 

 

She wants to say more, but you interrupt: ‘You said “we are leaving”, what’s with the  _ we _ ?’ 

 

‘Well-’ She shoulders her backpack. ‘I’m leaving the Legislacerators this night. There’s no time for explaining why.’ With a note of finality she adds: ‘Now grab your stuff and follow me.’ 

 

It’s most certainly better than when you walked in here. Your clothes are warm and sturdy, there’s food in your stomach and you know now that Redglare won’t let you down. She holds still and you freeze behind her. ‘See the doors?’ she whispers. In front of you, the moonlight shining in through a tiny window lights up the hall just enough for you to see the iron hinges. ‘Yes.’ 

 

She steps out into the lightbeam and carefully pushes the doors open further. ‘I knew it, that guy never locks them. Another reason why I chose tonight.’ 

 

‘Right, otherwise you would have chose the one after my execution?’ 

 

‘No, I’d have chosen yesterday,’ she pushes the doors open and slips outside. ‘C’mon.’ 

 

Standing in the fresh air, you take a few deep breaths. All that dungeon air didn’t do your lungs much good. You can see the forest from here. A short sprint would do it. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go, we don’t have all night.’ 

 

‘Redglare, I…’ You have difficulty finding the right words. You don’t want to sound too thankful or even slightly concerned about where  _ she  _ will end up. And yet you don’t want to make her think you don’t care at all. ‘Wherever you might go, I will find you. And I will pay you back for this.’ 

 

‘No, you don’t have to,’ she says. ‘Now go.’ 

 

‘I’ll find a way,’ you insist. Then it dawns on you that you don’t even know her name. Neither does she know yours. Well, that doesn’t matter, you have your ways of finding trolls. Then you hear footsteps in the hall. Redglare curses. ‘You talk too much.’ She shrugs off her backpack and unsheathes her blades. Two Legislacerators walk down the corridor. An oliveblood and an indigo troll. They’ve spotted you two. One of them bellows: ‘Neophyte!’ as they start to run. 

 

‘Take this!’ She shoves her backpack into your arms. ‘I’ll hold them off.’

 

You start to turn around to the forest. ‘I can’t let you-’ 

 

‘Yes you can. You’re a damn pirate! You’re not supposed to care!’ She’s yelling at you now. The guards have almost reached you. As you start to run to the safety of the trees you hear a  _ swish _ . A length of whip wraps around Redglare’s ankle and pulls her off her feet. She smacks to the ground. A thin line of teal blood trickles from her nose as she lifts her head and shouts: ‘Run, Marquise!’ This time, you listen to her. 

 

When you’re halfway there you hear her scream. The other Legislacerator says: ‘Well, Neophyte, you know the penalty that stands on helping a convicted criminal: death.’ 

 

As soon as you’ve reached the edge of the forest you put down both of the bags and draw your sword. It’s too dark to see everything clearly, but the troll who just spoke has grabbed Redglare’s hair and you see a flash of silver metal in his hand. The Neophyte’s teeth snap audibly at his hand, in the middle of that sound she cries out again. A spurt of blood stains the red of the armored shirt she wears. You hear the whip crack time after time. But you stand there, doubting whether you should act. Her words still echo in your ears: you’re a pirate, not supposed to care.  _ Come on, Mindfang,  _ you think,  _ where are your morals? She saved your life, and you're not going to save hers?  _ She’s not struggling against her colleague’s grip anymore and there’s barely any clean red on her uniform. You have to act now, or it won’t make a difference anymore. You bend down to your backpack and take your hat off it. As you put it on, you grab the hilt of your curved blade more tightly. The missing arm is going to throw your balance into the abyss, but if you slash quickly enough that won’t even matter. You run to the building. The first Legislacerator takes your blade to his unprotected neck. The one who's flogging Redglare drops her to draw his own weapon. But before he’s able to take his dagger out of its sheath both the weapon and his hand fly through the air. You cut his scream short with the sharp of your sword.


	4. Movement 3: Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's love in the air of Alternia. There's also a soggy cave, an especially awkward situation and a really creepy horse-loving troll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic now has an official theme song: https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/a-song-for-a-pirates-lover
> 
> I composed it.
> 
> The rights belong to me, don't steal, etc etc

# 

_Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 1_

 

Without caring about their purses, you kneel down by the fallen Neophyte. The back of her clothing is torn to shreds, it seems like she only had armor built into the front of her uniform. Teal blood drips from her body when you hoist her across your shoulders. Her pointy horns prick into your hair as you bend down to pick up her dual-bladed staff. Clumsily clicking the two halves together again, you spy the building for any more guards. They could easily overwhelm you now, since fighting is impossible with Redglare slung over your shoulders like this. When you pick up the backpacks and hang them from her staff over your right shoulder she almost falls off your back. ‘Hang on to me, just hang on,’ you whisper. She grabs your coat and hair with the little strength she has left.

 

Your mind frantically thinks of somewhere to go. Then you know: the place you call Sunset Cave. It’s more like a tiny secluded beach within a cave though. And it has a way to cheesy name. Unfortunately, you couldn’t think of a more fitting thing at the time, since the sunset there had been truly marvelous. Sweeps ago, when you were in this same forest with Dualscar, you suddenly sunk up to your thighs into the ground. When he had pulled you, struggling and yelling at him, out of the hole, a little digging had revealed a tunnel leading to the cave. It bore no marks from miner’s tools, so it had to be a natural tunnel. From sea you could barely access it. The opening was big enough for a small boat to land, but the bay surrounding it was extremely shallow. You’d sort of forgotten about the place since you never really felt the need to return, but now, as you stagger through the forest with Redglare on your shoulders, it’s the perfect hideout. She doesn’t react anymore when you put her down to uncover the entrance, which worries you more than you want to admit. While bringing the backpacks and both of your blades to the cave you notice that there’s no dirt in the short tunnel. No one has passed here since your visit, even the footprints that Dualscar left in the sand are still there. With an angry swipe of your boot you erase them. The little bit of bare rock in the back of the cave is good enough to make a little camp, you think as you hurry back to get Redglare. When you’ve managed to squeeze you two through the tunnel, you lay her down carefully on the flat stone ground in the back of the cave. Even all the way against the cave wall, you can still stand upright. You unpack the blanket she’d talked about and lay Redglare on it. It’s a simple rectangle of tightly woven cotton. You also notice the sleeping bag, but decide against that. It’s better not to get too many bloodstains on it.

 

As you try to remember how Redglare cared for your injuries you upend her backpack first. The first-aid kit drops out and you scramble back to her. Soaking a cloth with water from a flask she’s packed you start cleaning the slashes in her back. The longer it takes, the more you feel your eyelids close and a strong exhaustion threatens to overcome you. But, you keep telling yourself, you can’t fall unconscious or asleep now. There’s a life on the line and for what seems like the first time in your life you actually care. Wait no, it’s the second time for as far as you can think of, there was that moment with _her_ . You clean every single cut that the whip and sword have left. It doesn't look as bad anymore when you're done. Or at least, her back isn’t entirely covered in blood anymore. With decisive movements you dab every long wound with disinfectant salve. Not the same thing she used on your burns, but a more watery fluid. Then you have to turn her first on her side, then on her back and on her other side to wrap a bandage around her torso. Her head slumps from side to side, she doesn’t make a sound. If she’d cried out, you would’ve at least had a way of knowing that she’s still alive. _Why do I even care so much whether she’s alive or not? She’s just another ploy that happened to feel weak enough to help me,_ you think. But you know it’s different. She showed concern, didn’t ask for any form of payment and was willing to sacrifice herself so you could escape. You start to wonder if you’ve grown soft while imprisoned. It’s only then that you realize how similar this situation is to the moment you saw _her_. Badly beaten, her rare blood all over the rags she was wearing, huddled in a corner of Dualscar’s ship. How you cared for that special slave of his then, it’s eerily similar to this situation. You push the memory to the back of your head while telling yourself that Redglare actually did something for you, and her life is therefore much more worth than that of a slave.

 

When you’re finished with her back, you see a small cut running across her jawbone. It ends halfway to her nose and, from the looks of it, isn’t deep or life-threatening. A thin layer of salve has to suffice, you decide. Since you can use the sleeping bag, you cover the Neophyte with your own blanket. You realize that you’re still wearing your hat. Putting it on top of Redglare’s backpack, you pull the sleeping bag out of yours. Before you’ve undressed any further than your coat your knees buckle with exhaustion. For the second time that day, darkness fills your eye. Only this time, you fully appreciate it.

_Neophyte Redglare 1_

 

The smell of salt drives the hazy pain out of your head. When you open your eyes on a slit and register the pressure on your chest, you realize that you're lying on your stomach. That explains the pressure. As you try to turn on your side a flaming pain seems to set your entire back ablaze. A choked noise comes out of your mouth. In the corner of your eye, a dark figure stirs. The Marquise sits upright on her sleeping bag in the blink of an eye. The sight of her hair, now a poofy mess, is almost comical. ‘You know that you're supposed to sleep in the sleeping bag, not on top of it, right?’ you say.

‘Maybe if you hadn't gotten injured, I wouldn't have been so exhausted that I just fell asleep like this.’ She gestures at her clothes.

‘I hope you can explain where you've dragged me. And why,’ you say. You need to hope too many things with this woman.

But the only thing she says is: ‘Later.’ Then she begins rummaging through her pack. As soon as she gets hold of the soap you've packed, she places the bag in front of your face. She clearly wants some privacy and you don't mind. It does annoy you that she makes use of your injured state so easily. You hear her wash in what you assume to be the sea. When turning your head as far as you can you see that she's put a nice and clean bandage around you. The streaks of the whip still sting. It's very hard not to grin when you remember how she sighed when you applied the soothing salve to her burned wrist. Unfortunately it feels like the only thing she used was that stinging disinfectant stuff. As you listen to the splashing sounds Mindfang makes in the water you realize that it's the sixth day of the perigee today. You’ve missed it. You’ve missed your only chance this perigee. There's absolutely no way you're going to get to that inn now. Not in this condition. Then you wonder if she has seen your necklace. Since the majority of the things you've put into your backpack are scattered about on the ground she must have. As soon as you're able to properly move again, you need to find another hiding place for the next perigee. You know that the Marquise’s care will only last as long as it's absolutely necessary. You eye one of the apples that are strewn on the rock floor. If you could only just reach over and… When you stretch your arm too far, one of the wounds in your shoulder starts acting up so badly that you have to stop. A bare foot kicks the apple within your reach. ‘Having trouble?’

Mindfang is tall, even without that hat, you notice. When she was lying on the floor of the dungeon she'd looked much smaller. And you preferred that. You also prefer it if she’s dressed in anything more than her underwear. Seriously, you can see her grubscars now. ‘Where are your clothes, and your boots?’ you ask.

‘No use wearing boots in here.’ She nods to her footwear by the end of her sleeping bag. Then she shakes the clothes off her sleeping bag and starts dressing herself.

‘So, it looks like you don't have to pay me back after all. Maybe you even think that I need to pay you back now,’ you say.

‘No.’

Just a plain “no”. That seems to be the only word she's going to say in a long time. She moves the bag standing in front of your face over to her side. Now you can clearly see the sea. And the small beach where the rock ends. You can't help but wonder if she has buried any treasure here. But you don't ask her, to avoid putting any more pressure onto the situation. She folds her sleeping bag once, then lifts your head and puts the thicker fabric under it. Her hand is much softer than you thought. And you really wish you hadn't noticed that. Eating the apple, you look sideways at the Marquise. She is staring at the sea. You notice how thoughtful she looks. With a small sigh, she bends over to her backpack and grabs the first aid kit. While unwrapping her stump, she bites on a small, rolled up bandage. It almost keeps her from screaming. When she has to tear the last bit of bandage off, she cries out. You want to help her, but there's no way you'll be able to get up now. She does exactly what you've said. She first soaks up some disinfectant with a cloth, then applies the salve all around her arm. The wound already looks better than yesterday. You are almost certain that it will heal well. She puts a new bandage around it.

‘Redglare, you have to rest.’ She looks over to you and then covers you up with the blanket again. When you ate, about half of your body had become uncovered. Protesting, you attempt to stop her.

‘Hey, I'm well rested, there's no-’

‘Don't be an idiot. You've seen how tired I was,’ she says. Then she pulls the blanket up further. Her hand touches your face again. You manage to pull your right leg up a little, so at least the position in which you're lying is a little more comfortable. You fall asleep, still feeling her touch on your cheeks.

When you wake, she is gone. So are her boots. You don't want to feel worried, yet you do. But you're not left in doubt for long, soon footsteps sound in the tunnel and within seconds, Mindfang steps into the cave again. She’s carrying a big pile of wood and when she has dumped it unceremoniously onto the ground, she grabs a flint and steel from her backpack. ‘I thought you'd like a little warmth,’ she says while lighting a fire. You find yourself wondering since when she started caring for your warmth, but you dismiss that thought quickly. It doesn't matter when she started caring, she does now and that's good. While doubting yourself over whether you should feel like this about Mindfang she shows you some kind of dead animal she's holding. ‘I borrowed your blade for this, hope you don't mind?’

‘As long as you don't steal it.’

She gives you a tiny smile and ties the carcass to a thinner stick with a length of rope from your backpack. The smell it gives off when roasting over the fire is enough to make your mouth water. She drags you closer to the fire. You have to bite your lip to not cry out. ‘What is that?’ you ask when she has used your sleeping bag to give you a soft cushion under your back.

‘Rabbit.’

‘You're quick with my blade then, if you can kill a hopbeast with it.’ You can't suppress a little surprise.

‘Quick enough, or maybe this hopbeast was just slow, if you want to keep using those lowblood words.’

‘Not only lowbloods use them.’

‘No, but that is were the dialect originated.’ She knows more than you thought. As your meal is roasting over the fire you suddenly notice your necklace. It's lying close to the fire and it seems like she hasn't seen it. You manage to reach over to it and slip it into your backpack. She still hasn't put all of your stuff back in it. Soon, you feel yourself relax, which is odd. You feel way more at ease than you should with Mindfang around. She holds up your shirt. ‘Look. This is completely ruined,’ she says while showing you the shredded garment. It looks like the armor is still in place, but the back isn’t. ‘Tomorrow there is a market in a little seaside town close to this place. I've been there before, it's a good place to… trade. And I'll get you a new shirt there. And some reasonable food other than that dried up stuff you packed.’

‘I'm not wearing stolen clothes!’ That is going too far for you. Helping the Marquise escape, fine. Letting her kill two Legislacerators, you had to. But this is beyond your ways. She laughs.

‘It's either that or wearing nothing.’ She nods at the bandage wrapped all the way around you from your hips to your armpits. ‘That won’t be necessary for ever.’

 

_Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 2_

 

You laugh at Redglare. She's still not realizing exactly what she has done. With abandoning the court, there's no way back into the “legal” life anymore. You wonder where she was intending to go. When the meat is done, she has dozed off. You wave a greasy leg in front of her face until she opens her eyes. Then you pull it away. ‘I suppose… I can just put this right here…’ you say as you take a bite.

‘Not fair! I'm injured, you damn pirate!’ she sputters. But you take all the time you need to eat the meat off the bone. Then you grab a sliver of her shirt and wrap it around the end. ‘Oh no, it looks like someone has killed your lusus! What are you going to do now?’ You enjoy messing with her way too much. She isn’t laughing. No, she looks rather embarrassed. Giving her a piece of meat, you say: ‘Can't take a joke, can you?’

‘Not such a cruel one…’

‘Oh, come on.’ You start to eat more of the rabbit. The meat in your stomach is doing wonders. You can almost feel your strength returning. Redglare stays salty for the rest of the evening. The weather has turned to overcast and by nightfall there's a steady downpour going on. Later, when you curl up into your sleeping bag, you can't help but feel a little guilty about your jest. You really start to wonder if you've grown sentimental in the dungeons.

The next morning, she's still sound asleep when you get up. Hopefully you can still steal what you're planning to with one arm. But you think it would go just fine if you had no arms at all. After you've washed, you change bandages again. It takes less time than yesterday and it doesn't hurt nearly as much. She obviously knows what she was talking about in the courtblock. You are certain that, when you are ready to travel again, your arm won't trouble you much. When putting on your boots you take one more look at the sleeping Neophyte.

 _How can a fierce troll look so frail?_ , you wonder for a second. _Because she’s injured_ , you remind yourself. _Everyone looks weak and stupid while they’re injured_.

You bind on of the longer straps of her shirt around your head. With your hair tied back like this, you hope to look a little less like Mindfang. You also don't put on your coat. It has become sort of a signature item to your look. Outside, you take a few deep breaths of fresh air. Luckily, you soon find the path leading to the small seaside town. The market is already bustling with activity by the time you arrive. The first thing you steal is a shoulder cloak from a carriage. It’s black with no accents and reaches your knees. A simple clasp on your left shoulder connects the two flaps of the fabric. Just too bad that some trolls don't watch their stuff when they are unloading their goods. It hides you missing arm fairly well. Then you look for something that Redglare would like. Her shirt was red, so that's where you'll be looking for. While scouring the market stalls you start to think about how strong Redglare actually is. After getting such a scourging, she didn't complain one moment about the pain. And those slashes hurt. More than the few you have on your cheek, that's for sure. And unlike your scratches, hers are much deeper and will leave scars.

 _Why am I even thinking about this?_ You really don't want to admit your concerns for her, not even to yourself. Spying a colorful red patch on a stall, you take a closer look. It's a long-sleeved shirt. From the looks of it, it's sturdy and reminds you of the fabric of your coat. Almost carelessly, you hide it under your cloak. You look further. Amongst various weapons on a different stall, one dagger catches your eye. Simple leather-wrapped handle, leaf-shaped blade. You need a smaller weapon besides your sword and this suits your needs perfectly. Waiting until the salesman looks the other way, you think of her again. She cared about you. That look in her eyes when she freed you from your cell, that was a look of pure pity. At least, you believe it was. If so, she has been the first person in sweeps to act like that to you. And how concerned she looks when you fainted in her office. It seems like forever that someone has sincerely worried about your condition. Except for your slaves, but they only did it out of fear. Or maybe… maybe one of them did it out of some kind of messed-up sincerity.

The shopkeeper is discussing the prize of a bejeweled sword with another customer. You bend over the dagger and look at a heavy axe lying above it on the stall while slipping it into your sleeve. When you're at a distance from the stall you shake it out and put it between your belt. While walking over to the food stalls you stuff a small bag of dried fruit into your sleeve. A loaf of bread is just as easily hidden under your cloak. Then you eye the final thing you want to take: a large ham, slung over a corner of the meat stall. But how will you get to that? Carelessly, you approach the salesman. ‘How much for that?’ you ask, pointing at the prize piece of meat. He tells you some ridiculously high price. You pretend to be surprised. ‘Really? Well, I suppose it must be worth it then.’

‘Yes, Madam. It's top quality beefgrub ham.’ He grabs it off the hook where it hangs and holds it up for you to see. With one hand, he grabs a thin knife from behind him on the stall and cuts off a sliver. ‘Would you like to taste a bit?’

You take the slice. ‘Hmm.’ The taste is most certainly exquisite. This will be a good catch. You prod with your fingers into the meat. Then you take one step closer and act like you're inspecting the ham. As the salesman lessens his grip on it you stomp down hard on his toes. The wooden heel of your boot has to have broken at least one. As you run off with the ham you hear him shout. Safely back in the dark forest, you look at the commotion on the market. They are looking for you, under the carriages and behind the stalls. In places where they expect you. As you walk back to the hideout you think about how grumpy Redglare will be. She has arrested trolls for less. But maybe the good food will cheer her up. Then you hold still.

 _Cheer her up? Since when do I even care about her mood?_ You can't deny your own feelings any longer. The way she just is so friendly to you, even though she tries to hide it. Both of you see through each other’s unfriendly face, you fear. But she is so concerned and careful. Her strong personality and fighting skills. When you think of her smiling, with those bright teal eyes and sharp teeth, a surge of energy rises in your chest. She would look beautiful when smiling. With somewhat of a sigh you admit it to yourself. You are feeling flushed for Neophyte Redglare.

You're going to have to tell her. Or maybe you should be aiming for a moirallegiance instead. You have never had red love before, only black. And it was Dualscar who asked you to be his kismesis, not the other way around. Will she even reflect your feelings? You have little time to ponder about that, the hideout isn’t far. You lift the packet of leaves that conceals the entrance and walk through the tunnel. She’s sitting upright against the wall. In her hands is a small black book. Your journal. She must've fished it out of your backpack.

‘Oh…’ you say. ‘Have… have you read that?’

‘Of course. Why would it be in my hands otherwise?’

You put down your bounty as carefully as you can. She has read that… thing. All of the shit you did before being captured.

‘Oh…’ you say again. It's the only thing you can utter. ‘Well I, eh, I wanted to ask you something. But never mind, it's not… important.’

 

_Neophyte Redglare 2_

 

The Marquise turns away from you. She mutters something about making dinner. You turn your attention back to the journal and read the last few sentences over:

 _As for Redglare, it would surprise me if I ever heard her name again. If she finds me then I welcome her challenge. 8ut I am so confident she will play no relevant role in my future, I won't even 8other peering into my oracle to satisfy my curiosity._  
  
How different it went. You wonder what her oracle is. And what she wanted to ask you. ‘So, is it really not all that important what you wanted to ask?’

She just shakes her head. Then she lights the fire again and puts the small kettle you brought on it. She has emptied it of all the food you had stored in it. It is customary to take cooking supplies with you on a field mission and you're happy to have used that excuse for taking them with you. You two need to sort the food you have packed and decide for how many days it will suffice, you realize. Mindfang can't keep stealing food, how good she might be at it. That said, you ponder further on a hiding place for the time you have to wait when you're out of this cave. You might go back to the ruins of your hive. Maybe. The thought makes you shudder. The Marquise is nervous, you see. She takes off her coat and sits down on the other side of the cave. Really far away from you. Then she empties one of the three purses she has on her on the floor. The gold tinkles on the stone. She uses a small dagger to tear the sewings of her coat open. Then she begins stuffing the gold pieces one by one into the fabric. Then she repairs the torn stitches with needle and thread she got from her backpack. When she has completed one line going down the coat from her collar to the bottom she only has a quarter of the gold left. She starts working on a second row and says: ‘If you want me to stuff your new shirt like this too, just tell me.’ There's a weird hiccup in her voice.

‘Sure, go ahead,’ you reply. You have by far not as much money on you as she,  but it won't hurt to save some. ‘Now tell me, what did you want to ask?’

‘Nothing.’ She shakes the gold down to the bottom of her coat. Now she has two rows of coins sewn into the linings. She starts repairing the torn edge on her collar where she started.

‘There's nothing wrong with asking,’ you insist.

‘There is when you've read _that_.’ She nods at her journal. ‘There's no way I can possibly ask the shit I wanted to now. You've read all of that crap. Your opinion of me is settled.’

‘What opinion? I already had one,’ you say, a little surprised by her sudden anger. ‘And this thing-’ you pick up the journal and wave with it. ‘-doesn't change anything. I already knew that you did these things.’

What in the world is she fussing about? Before you went on your mission, you got all the details you wanted on this woman. Or everything that Dualscar knew, which was a lot. Including some rather unpleasant information. Then you see that she's blushing. A deep cobalt blush. ‘Hey, I didn't mean to make you feel bad.’ You attempt to get up, but she drops the coat, turns around and gently pushes you back. Her face is quite close to yours and sitting on her knees in front of you like this, she really looks embarrassed.

‘Listen Redglare, if you really… if that book really didn't change anything for you… Then I’d just like to say that I'm really thankful that you've saved me. That prison was a nightmare. And you were willing to just throw away your life, for me. For someone like me!’

Now you're the one feeling flustered. ‘You don't have to compliment me like that. I just felt… guilty about that whole thing I made up. When I saw how much you care… for your lusus… I knew that you didn't deserve to die.’ In a sudden move you cup her face with one hand. And she lays her hand on yours. ‘It wasn’t a pirate I saw in the dungeon. I saw a broken troll. And something in me wanted nothing but to piece you back together again.’

_Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 3_

 

Now your head is an absolute mess. _She doesn't despise me, even after reading my journal_ , you think. You can't look her in the eyes. Your heartbeat is racing, you focus on the small cut on her jawbone so you don't have to look into her eyes. ‘So…’ you start. ‘Since you feel that way… I guess I can eh, say that thing I wanted to say.’

You take what feels like the deepest breath ever. Then you manage to look at her eyes without having the feeling that you're going to die of embarrassment. ‘After all this, all of this lifesaving, caring for each other, getting to know each other, I've… felt something. Redglare-’ You can't avoid saying that nickname. “Neophyte” would only sound denigrating. ‘I think I'm waxing red for you.’

A tiny frown appears on her brow, but is soon replaced by a smile. She puts an arm around your waist. She lowers her to a whisper. ‘So what you wanted to ask me was…’

She's making you say it. But she feels the same way, you realize. Otherwise she wouldn't let you confess. Hah, confess. Like you're guilty. You also whisper as you say: ‘Would you like to be my matesprit?’

Her “yes” is the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. As you lean in for a first kiss, she stops you. ‘I have to know your name before we do that.’

‘My name, my hatchname… yes.’ You close your eyes as you tell her: ‘It's Aranea.’

‘That's a beautiful name. Mine is Latula.’ It sounds like something she hasn't said in forever. You press your lips to hers. They feel chapped and rough. You keep kissing her, gently and with uttermost care. It’s entirely different than the rough, biting kisses you’re used to. But this is a red romance, not a black one. No fangs sinking into your lips, no nails scratching down your sides, no taste of blood in your mouth this time. It all feels remarkably pleasant. The touch of her lips on yours seems to last an eternity. When you finally pull away her eyes are locked onto yours.

‘And here we are. The pirate and the Legislacerator. Both injured. Making out in a cave,’ she says in a whisper. She laughs. Then she winces.

‘What's wrong?’ you immediately ask.

‘My back,’ she says. ‘I'm straining my injuries with all this kissing.’

_Neophyte Redglare 3_

‘That's not good. We don't want you to die from love, now do we?’ Aranea says. You laugh together with her. Then you ask if this is the first time she has had a matesprit.

 

‘Yes, I only had black love before this. And that too was only one time. With Cronus.’

 

So that's the Orphaner’s name. You tell her that this is your first time to have any kind of quadrant at all. And you're enjoying it so far. As a response, she pulls you into another kiss. Then she lays you down carefully. ‘I was planning on making soup for the next few days. And tonight we'll eat bread with choice ham. Sounds good?’

 

‘Exceptionally good,’ you reply. ‘There's a small pan in my backpack, that’ll work better than the kettle. Or it's lying somewhere in the cave.’

 

She finds it soon enough. It has a slight dent in the lid. While filling it with water, she asks what you were planning on doing after running away from the courtblock. You decide that it's time to tell her. You are her matesprit, that should give you enough reason to trust her. ‘If you look in the little side pocket of my backpack, the same one where I put my glasses, you'll find a Sufferer necklace.’

 

She reaches for it. ‘I never thought you'd have one of these. What for?’

 

‘The Disciple is organizing a second rebellion.’

 

You see her eyebrows shoot up.

 

‘And if you go to a place called “the Cholerbear’s Inn” on the sixth day of the perigee, you can join it. If you show that necklace and know who to ask.’ You take a deep breath and go on: ‘And I know who to ask. That's what I was planning on doing.’

 

‘Wow. Redglare, the rebel.’ The Marquise now crumbles some herbs into the water. She nods thoughtfully. ‘And if I might ask, what attracts you so much in the Sufferer’s teachings that you want to fight for his ideals?’

 

‘More then one thing, but I’ll tell you one of the most important things. In the court block, there are special policies for highblood criminals. If they haven't committed more than three serious crimes, there are different rules for them than for anyone under cobalt.’ With somewhat of a laugh you add: ‘So that didn't go up for you, with at least five of those offenses.’

 

Mindfang rolls her good eye. ‘You must be kidding!’ She throws another log on the fire.

 

‘Anyway, I think that that's not right. All criminals should be judged equally. If a rustblood kills an oliveblood, it doesn't suddenly get worse than when that same troll was killed by a purpleblood. And the Sufferer shared my point of view.’

 

‘You have talked to him?’

 

‘Multiple times. First I came to one of his secret sermons, just to see where everyone was making such a fuss about. Well, I was very impressed, so then I started to go to every one of them. He said I could always join as his follower. But I didn't.’ You remember the day that they'd arrested him. You visited him in his cell and talked one final time to him. But you weren't able to do anything to help. As soon as you got word of a second rebellion, you decided that you simply had to join. Carefully planning your getaway, the only thing that stopped you from joining earlier was the sudden assignment from the Grand Highblood. As you tell Aranea about all of this she slowly starts to smile.

 

‘Looks like I have to go with you.’

 

‘Why that?’

 

‘Well, I don't have a fleet, so a return to piracy isn't likely. And what can I do with my life otherwise? I never learned a different job. But most of all, you’re my matesprit. I want to stay by your side. Besides, the stuff he taught doesn't even seem half bad. I treated all ships the same, didn't I? There wasn’t a difference between a fat indigoblood captain or a meager yellowblood skipper.’

 

You know she means it as a joke. ‘Wouldn't you get an eyepatch first?’

 

‘I'm still planning on getting one, yes. And if you don't mind, the sixth day of next perigee is quite far away still. I know someone who can most likely get me a new arm.’ Aranea sits down next to you. ‘The Expatriate.’

 

‘Darkleer?’ You look at her in wonder.

 

‘He has his way with technology. And I…’ her voice suddenly trails off. She shuffles nervously. ‘There's this… debt, which I sort of have by the Disciple. Remember the part about the slave, in my journal?’

 

That part made your skin crawl. She sees the look in your eyes and lays her arm around your shoulders. ‘That was a follower of the Signless.’

 

‘Really?’

 

‘Really.’ She gets up and checks on the broth. As you watch her taste it and add more herbs, you suggest a plan. First, you two will go to the Expatriate to fix her a new arm. Then, you need find a good hiding place for the days left before the sixth. She interrupts: ‘We can go to my hive. I have to check… just see if my lusus is okay. It has been way too long since I've been there.’

 

‘Right…’ you say. Then you suddenly realize the one thing that you haven't got now. ‘Pyralspite…’ you whisper. She hears you.

 

‘Oh yeah, where is he? Or don't… don’t you know?’ She frowns in a concerned way.

 

‘No… But he'll find me once I'm out in the open again. He never strays far from the courtblock. And he and me got a psychic connection of some sort.’ This is getting hard to explain. ‘I know some other tealbloods who have it too. When he's close enough, I feel his mind. And he knows I'm around too. It's like, a light tingling feeling in the back of my head.’ You see her eyes widen.

 

‘That's how mind control feels.’

 

‘It's not control, I just know he's close by.’ You know he will eventually find you. Besides his mental capabilities, his sight and smell are exceptionally good as well. And the dragon never failed to find you. His species lose their blindness when they reach maturity, and Pyralspite has lived for at least two hundred sweeps already. You watch Aranea cut the loaf of bread and put it on the two wooden plates you packed. Then she thinly slices the ham.

 

‘Hey, that dagger is new,’ you say.

 

‘Yes. And also stolen.’ She arranges a few pieces of dried fruit on each of the plates. Also stolen, you know. You are going to celebrate your matespritship with a delicious dinner of stolen food. But before you can enjoy that terrible delicacy, the Marquise shows you a bright red shirt. ‘And this is of course also stolen. I think you wear red well.’

 

‘First of all, it's a tunic. Have you stolen a belt? Secondly, it doesn't have my sign on it.’

 

She's quite surprised. ‘You'll be a rebel soon, you might as well go signless,’ she says. ‘And no, I don't have a belt.’

 

‘I have rope,’ you say. She asks if the sign business bothers you so much, to which you say that it feels unnatural. But in a way, she's right. You two are essentially outside the law now. It wouldn't hurt to break one more. You startle yourself with that thought. Never in the world were you ever expecting to think like this.

 

When the scraps of last night’s hopbeast, four portions of oats and a good bit of the dried meat you have in your field ration have disappeared into the soup, Mindfang buries it in the sand. ‘It'll stay warmer like this. And the oats can soak up some flavor.’

 

‘Where have you learned all of that?’ you wonder.

 

‘Well, as a pirate, you learn to know a little bit of everything. Cooking, doctoring, small repairs of the ship, stuff like that. I wasn't always the captain, you know.’

 

Of course not. But you only realize that now. You have difficulty seeing Aranea as someone who also needed to climb the hierarchy of the ship. But of course, she wasn't always the big bad corsair. There must have been a time when she was the lowest mate too.

 

When the dinner is ready, she sits down next to you. Close to the fire, with a soft blanket between the cave wall and your backs, it couldn't get any more comfortable. She cuts off a small piece of bread with ham and sensually feeds it to you. The fact that it's all stolen doesn't make it taste bad. Celebrating the first day of your matespritship like that, you snuggle up against her shoulder. She rests her head on yours and softly says: ‘It's good that I'm taller then you. Imagine how weird this would be otherwise.’

 

‘Do realize that I won our battle,’ you reply. She laughs and strokes your hair.

 

‘And maybe that was for good.’

 

A lot of kissing later, she wraps her good arm around you when both of you lie under the blankets. Her idea to use the sleeping bags as a mattress of some sorts makes for a much better night.

_Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 4_

Latula’s smaller body pressed against yours makes you feel like an entirely different person. You remember the days in the dungeons, the days you wanted to kill her. Now, she feels so fragile, curled up against you like this. You want to protect her. To make sure that no harm will come to her ever again. This you whisper in her ear. She turns to you.

 

‘That's where matesprits are for.’ Then she kisses you on your forehead. You kiss her back on the mouth and she wraps her arms around you. In that tight hug, both of you slowly relax and fall asleep.

 

You wake up when her soft breathing becomes more and more strained. She suddenly throws her head back and cries out. You immediately sit up and ask what's wrong.

 

‘I don't know… Aranea. My back… hurts, am I bleeding?’ She touches the bandage. By the still glowing coals of the fire you see patches of dark on the white fabric. Blood. Something is wrong with her wounds and even that thought threatens to send you into a panic. The memory of your own blood, thumping in your stump, is a little too clear. You can’t use any distractions now, you tell youself. Your matesprit hisses in pain, her black lips pulled back to show every single sharp tooth. Little pearls of sweat roll down Redglare’s forehead. As you lay a hand on her face she grimaces and her breath comes out in a rasp.

 

‘Dear god, you're warm!’ you say. ‘Shit, Latula. This isn’t the time to get a fever. Do you have any more of that bitter stuff you gave me back in the court block?’

 

‘Not here. I only have- aargh!’

 

‘Lie still!’ You feel like you're bossing her around. But you know she won't act according to her condition, so it's better to just tell her what to do. For a split second, you think about dragging her to the seaside village and going to a surgeon. But the chance of the both of you getting arrested is too great. You dig into her backpack. Disinfectant, extra bandages, you need it all now. Then you find two small, flat bags. When you sniff them you smell herbs. Compresses. Perhaps these would help, or at least dim the pain. There's no time for doubting, you have to try everything. You fill the kettle with a small layer of water from your flask and throw the compresses in. Latula flips herself on her side with a loud grunt of pain and you rush over. As you strip her of the bandage more teal blood leaks out. It's the three deepest wounds that are the problem. You need more light. When you add more wood to the fire, a bright orange glow lights up the cave. The edges of the lashes down in the small of her back look infected. The flesh is swollen under the skin. The wounds are a nasty dark teal color, with yellow edges. As you dab the stinging disinfectant on it, Latula grabs your arm and side and her nails dig into your skin. It's hard to do all of this with one arm. You lift her head and lay it on your lap. She tries to stifle her further screaming. You anxiously look at the kettle. It will take a little longer until the compresses are done. Lifting her body, you get out of your kneeling position and sit down again with your back against the wall. You warp one of the blankets around her. Now her head rests on your shoulder and you cradle her in your arms. Well, with your body, against hers, and you just hope she keeps her head on your shoulder. ‘Just a little longer… just a few moments… then this pain will be over,’ you whisper.

 

Another muffled scream is the only reply you get. There's blood on your neck now. Sticky teal blood. When you lift her head and look at her face there's blood on her lips. She draws in a deep breath, then suddenly heaves over and coughs up more. Flecks of blood stain the thin blanket, she claws weakly at the fabric. It takes way too long until the compresses are done. You're not even sure if Latula is still conscious when you get them out of the kettle. But when you press one to a slash she sighs in relief. Her eyes are weirdly glassy when she looks up to you.

 

‘You know how t-that feels.’

 

‘Quit talking,’ you say. ‘It’s not good for you.’

 

‘Mmmh.’ She closes her eyes and you see her doze off.

 

‘No, keep your eyes open. Don't fall asleep!’ You tap her sweaty forehead. ‘If you fall asleep now you'll never wake up again!’ You can't keep your voice from cracking. The little smile she gives you shows that she understands. God, you are afraid. You don't want to lose your matesprit the same night you got her. As you hastily look around the cave you see the cape you stole. You rip it to shreds and throw them into the kettle. If you're going to use them to clean Redglare’s wounds, you must somehow sanitize them first. While boiling the cloth, you see a dim light at the horizon. Dawn is breaking. You take the compresses off her back and throw them back into the boiling water. _As soon as I've got her stable, I'll go out and get some better medicine than these,_ you think.

Unfortunately, you can’t get her stable. Her half-unconscious, fevered state doesn’t get any better. But you can't do anything else besides cleaning the pus from her wounds as best as you can. That's also not easy, since she constantly tries to turn over on her side. You hate to have to hurt her this much. After what feels like cleaning away liters of blood and nasty infected fluids, you put her head onto your folded sleeping bag. That's as much you can do to make her feel somewhat comfortable. That and putting the herb compresses back on. As you walk to the tunnel, you almost trip over the heap of sand where you've buried the pan. You need to get some soup into her when you're back. Under the trees, you search for the medicine. It's a small, grassy plant with lots of little leaves down green stems. And with bright orange berries. It doesn't take that long until you find some. You remember very well when your lusus brought these to you. It was in your first few sweeps that it would go out into the forest when you were feeling ill. And then it would come back with these herbs and give them to you to eat. Those were the days. Now, you're doing the same thing for Latula. Rushing back to the hideout, you clutch the herbs in your only hand when you run down the tunnel.

 

‘Here-’ you says as you try to put the herbs into her clammy hand. ‘- eat these. They're sour, but they help against fever. Probably not as well as your bitter drink, but it's the best I can do.’

 

She takes the stems from you with difficulty. And she almost spits them out again. But you see her swallow the plants.

 

_Neophyte Redglare 4_

 

The sour taste of the medicinal herbs combined with the strongly bitter aftertaste almost takes away the pain, so bad is it. Then you taste your own blood again. You almost welcome that metallic taste. Mindfang has found the bowl you packed for her. You hear her dig up the pan from where she buried it in the sand. When she tries to give you the bowl you shake your head. ‘I'm not hungry.’

 

The pain and the fever have taken away all your desire to eat. Mindfang fills a spoonful of soup. ‘I'm going to stay here until you've eaten at least one bowl. Don't make this difficult, Latula.’

 

You can't go against your own words. She eventually manages to feed you two and a half bowls. You ask her if it's safe to sleep now.

 

‘I don't think I could keep you from falling asleep. Just… don't try to like, die or something,’ she says.

 

When you try to form a response, you tongue feels like lead, so you only nod weakly. As you close your eyes, not even the burning ache from your wounds keeps you form falling in a near-comatic sleep. You don't die that night.

 

The following days are hard. Your head is full of fog, pain and fever. The first day, you’re barely aware of your surroundings, but two days after that terrible night, Aranea says that the worst of the fever is over. She cleans your wounds, and drags you over to the water to wash. Despite your matespritship, you still feel uncomfortably naked as she lowers you into the sea. You shriek as the stinging salt water makes contact with your skin and dig your nails into the Marquise’s shoulder, hard enough to break skin. As she kneels down onto the sand under water, you sink up to your chest into the sea. It’s good that she has her one arm tightly wrapped around you, because you’re getting very aware of the fact that you can’t swim. She dabs with a cloth at your wounds. The deepest few open up a bit. When you look behind you, some teal blood leaks into the water. ‘Salt water is a crude antiseptic, I know,’ the Marquise says. The more shallow cuts are already scabbing over. Mindfang dries you carefully, like a matesprit should, and wraps clean bandages around your body. Throughout your recovering period, she makes sure that you're always well fed and comforts you when you wake up at night, shrieking in pain. Slowly, over the course of weeks, you regain your strength. She always wakes you with a kiss on the forehead, makes breakfast and sneaks away. Then she comes back an hour or two later with food she stole from somewhere. And you find yourself caring less and less. In the meantime, you wash in the sea and put on your new tunic. A piece of rope works well enough as a belt. You start pacing around the cave. You need to get your legs working again. Within a week, you're able to walk properly. The plan to go to the Expatriate still stands. While the Marquise is out stealing enough food for you both for the journey you need to make, you sharpen her sword and both of your blades. As the whetstone sharpens the dual swords of your staff, you think of Pyralspite. He’s got to find you soon enough. Until then, he'll be able to care for himself, you hope. Mindfang jumps down into the tunnel. ‘I think we've got enough now. I brought more bread, two halves of cheese, dried sausage and this.’

 

She shows you a belt. It's made out of light brown leather and has a golden buckle. And your very own sign is on that buckle. ‘This was lying around in a clothing store, I couldn't resist.’

 

You gasp. ‘Oh wow, you didn't-’

 

‘Have to go out of my way to get this? Hey, you were complaining about not having a sign.’

 

As you strap it around your waist the following morning, you can help but feel a little more complete. The backpacks are stuffed with food, both of your flasks are filled with water and when you climb out of the tunnel, Mindfang says: ‘I'm renaming this place. From now on it's called: Latula’s Cave.’

 

She helps you up. ‘Fever Cave would be more apt,’ you say. But you feel a little sad when leaving the hideout. That feeling doesn't stay for long though. As you hike through the forest with Aranea, you feel revitalized. Just when you're about to comment on it, she stops you with a hand on your shoulder. She nods sharply in front of her. Two trolls are chopping wood on a small clearing in front of you. A bronze and a yellowblood. ‘Dammit, I want that axe,’ she whispers.

 

‘Even with your skills, you're not going to be able to steal it out of his hands,’ you whisper back. As you two walk around the clearing as silently as possible, you try not to laugh. Imagining Mindfang swinging as axe is completely ridiculous. When you reach a more open area, with more grassy terrain and not as many trees, you stop. ‘We have to camp here, if we don't want to exhaust ourselves too much.’

 

‘Right, you don't want to put too much stress on those lashes on your behind,’ she says.

 

‘I thought you were muttering something about sore feet earlier on. And I don't have lashes on my ass. They flogged my back, not my legs.’

 

‘I wasn't!’ Aranea puts down her backpack. You get the tent out of yours. It takes up more space then you'd like, but since you needed to keep up the “field mission” excuse, you had to pack it. Now, you're happy that you did. While she pitches the tent, you get water from a nearby brook. Filling both your flasks and the kettle, you also wash your face with the cold water. You notice the scar on your cheek in your reflection. When you are back at the little camp and place the kettle on the already lit fire, you ask if Aranea has a mirror. She does, but it's small. When she holds it up for you, you strip yourself of the tunic and turn your head around. You can just see your own back in it. And you gasp. Teal-colored scars covered your entire skin, from your shoulders to your hips. They feel rough under your touch. ‘That looks so… ugly,’ you say.

 

‘Don't exaggerate it,’ Mindfang says. ‘It doesn't look that bad. Just some scars, and within a sweep or two most of them will be gone. If you were a rustblood… then they’d actually stay there for your entire life. But us highbloods, we heal quickly. Besides-’ She puts away the mirror and crosses her arms. Which means that she grabs her left hip with her right hand. ‘- you've earned every single one of them. Wear your scars proudly. It shows that you are a survivor, not a victim. ’

 

In a way, she is right about the scars. As you eat dinner, you contemplate further on it. ‘You think it really doesn't look bad?’

 

She shakes her head. ‘Of course not. You should've seen me, about one and a half sweeps ago. A somewhat… out of hand fight with Dualscar had left me in stitches from my face to my feet. And now you don't see anything of it anymore.’

 

You eat more oats. ‘Out of hand fight?’

 

‘Yes, that's a way of putting it.’ She wipes her mouth with her hand and puts the bowl down. A somewhat painful look passes over her face. ‘Smacked against the deck, after I'd embarrassed him. He broke four of my ribs. But I completely healed. You could see where his bayonet had hit me, here.’ She pulls up her cotton shirt and traces her side. If you look really closely, you can just see a faint cobalt blue line. Her face stands weirdly painful, although she’s clearly trying to make it seem like no big deal. Her frown and the look in her eyes tells a different story though. You don’t want to stretch the conversation, it seems to make your matesprit uncomfortable. So you ask her about Dualscar’s weapon before eating on. ‘Ah, yes. That thing. It's called Ahab’s Crosshairs. It's an absurdly powerful armament,’ she elaborates. ‘On the front is a sharp bayonet, as I just said. For the stabbing work. But he always preferred the main function, the energy bolts that it could fire. He said it looked more elegant. And when he had said that too many times, I said he looked like a flailing musclebeast when firing his gun. That comment is what got me to… feel that weapon in my side.’

 

‘Wow, the Orphaner sure had a sensitive temper then.’ Your spoons scrapes the last oats out of the bowl. She agrees with you. That temper is what eventually broke the black love between the two pirates. As you break up camp the next morning, a powerful wind is blowing. You don't like it much, and it's even stronger since you're following the coastline. Aranea asks why not, you answer: ‘This is the kind of storm that can blow Pyralspite off course if he's searching for me.’

 

She dismisses it as nonsense. ‘Pyralspite is a powerful lusus. Surely he can take some wind.’

 

‘And I thought you were a pirate. Haven't you worried once when this kind of wind was blowing out on sea?’

 

Surely she must have. A good storm can devastate ships, even you know that. But to your surprise, she laughs. ‘You know what I did when it stormed out on sea? I let the crew reef the sails and then I stepped onto the prow of the ship and enjoyed the wind. Redglare-’ she holds still and shrugs off her backpack into the sand. ‘- come on, enjoy it!’ The broad smile on her face reveals how much she's loving this. With a sigh, you drop your pack.

 

‘Right, I'm enjoying it.’ The sand blowing about stings in your eyes and you're anxious to move on. But she walks up behind you and spreads out your right arm. You see her standing with her arm spread wide open behind you.

 

‘No you're not. Don't be so stuck-up. Just feel the wind in your hair.’

 

She has a lot more hair than you. But as you feel the warmth of her body through your clothes and see how much she's enjoying it, you close your eyes. With each deep breath you take, fresh, salty air streams into your lungs. Now you start to understand why she likes it. You imagine her doing this on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

 

‘See?’ Her voice is surprisingly close to your ear. She grabs your right shoulder and turns you around for a kiss. The salty taste of her lips makes the experience way better. When you walk on, you see her long coat billow behind her. She's walking fast now, and you step your tempo up a notch too. For the entire day, you two follow the coastline. The dunes on your right hand side get higher as the distance passes. When it starts getting dark, you need a place to stay for the night. ‘It's only sand here,’ you say to Mindfang.

‘Yeah, maybe if we walk a little bit into the dunes, we'll find a better suitable place.’

 

She’s somewhat right. The high dunes are not ideal, but at least the wind is not as strong here. You need to use twice as many tent pegs to make sure that the tent doesn't blow away. Cooking is impossible outside with all of the sand. As Aranea prepares bread for dinner, you spread out the sleeping bags. This evening, you don't bother with fancy dinner. A few slices of bread with cheese and dried sausage have to do. You eat them while sitting in your sleeping bag already. The Marquise puts her sword close by her side. ‘There's a small town a few miles inland,’ she says. ‘I can't be sure that no one passes by here tonight.’

 

‘I hope not.’ The wind will make the night bad enough. You wake early next morning. And not because of trespassers. The storm has died down and a weak sun is shining. Mindfang looks peaceful when asleep, so you decide to let her lay there for a little longer. When you wash in the sea, you wonder if the Expatriate will really be able to fix Aranea’s eye. Her arm is a different story, for someone who's good with mechanics, that shouldn't be a big problem. But eyes are much more intricate. You hope he can make her a new one though. After a short breakfast, you continue the walk. ‘It gets more rocky after a mile or two now,’ Aranea says.

 

‘Good, then we'll make more progress then on this sand. How many days do you expect our journey to take from now?’ you ask.

 

‘Two. With this weather, we can hike a long distance today. Tomorrow's walk will be a short one. Unless one of us suddenly collapses.’

 

‘Like that will happen again.’

 

She laughs with you. But you hope that she's not pretending that she's in a better condition than she really is. As for you, your back is almost fully healed. Within three hours, the sandy beach has transformed into rocks. You pass a real path along the beach, but Mindfang avoids it. ‘The path leading to his hive looks differently.’

 

As you pitch the tent that day, she grabs a small box from her backpack. When she opens it, it reveals fishing gear. ‘Now this-’ she says while attaching a hook to the line. ‘- I actually bought. I knew it would come in handy.’ She sets out to fish and you light a fire. Some driftwood from the beach works well, only the seaweed on it gives of an unpleasant smell. ‘Redglare!’ you hear her call. ‘Come and help me here!’

 

You rush over to where she's standing. She has no fishing reel, instead she has a cross of wood in her hand, with the line tied to it. ‘I've got a big one, I think. Just grab the line and carefully reel it in with me.’

 

You do so, and slowly, you're able to get her catch closer to the shore. The first glance of the catch tells you that it's most certainly a fish. ‘I saw it!’ you yell. You take a quick look behind you and see Mindfang smile broadly. Of course, you realize, she has done this many times over at sea. She constantly wraps the line further around the cross in her hand and you get the fish closer and closer. One time, it almost pulls you over. When you're done wrestling the catch and it's finally close enough for you to grab, it splashes water everywhere on your clothes when you pull it out of the ocean. ‘It's smaller than I thought…’ you say.

 

‘Small fishies always fight with more virtue than big ones.’ She cuts the hook out and kills it with her dagger. ‘Besides, it's just the right size for the two of us, isn't it?’

 

When the fish is roasting over the fire, you cut some of your last herbs to sprinkle over it. With some more oats soaked in water and a couple pieces of dried fruit as dessert, it makes for a very satisfying meal. When you're lying on your side in the sleeping bag, you whisper to your matesprit: ‘What do you think Darkleer will think of me?’

‘Not much. As far as I know, he doesn't hate the Legislacerators or something. He knows that he caused his exile himself.’ Mindfang rolls on her back. Her eyes glint in the weak light. ‘Were you there, when he was exiled?’

 

‘I was, both as a Legislacerator and as a follower of the Signless.’ You remember the trial of Executor Darkleer very well. It wasn't such a special trial, but the man seemed so utterly defeated. He said nothing to protect himself. The only thing he said in the end was “in better times, we could have been moirails”. You think he meant the Disciple by that. Mindfang confirms it.

 

‘Yes, he used to blabber so much about that when I was offering him protection. He could go on and on about how he and her could have been destined for each other.’

 

You sincerely hope he doesn't do that when tinkering with her new arm. ‘Something else I’ve been thinking about… did… did I sink all eighty of your ships?’ You have trouble getting the sentence out.

 

‘I don’t think so, honestly.’ Mindfang reaches out with her arm and you press your head into the crook of her elbow. ‘The “Spider’s Claw” was far out to sea. I know you burned some on your way there, but most certainly not all of them. Don’t worry so much about it. My fleet has taken beatings before. I just hope that my first mate has become the captain now. He would be able to manage the fleet well.’

 

When you walk on, the next day, it doesn't take long to get to the path Aranea mentioned. It's a narrow, dusty road. As you hike further into the peninsula where his hive is, Mindfang points it out. At the furthest point, a big, somewhat round, stone building stands. You arrive at his hive in the early afternoon. And you're surprised by how out in the open it is.

 

‘Remember, he's exiled, not being prosecuted,’ Aranea says. ‘Like us.’

 

_Marquise Spinneret Mindfang 5_

 

You can’t avoid saying that a little bitterly. You feel somewhat strange about coming here. It was your protection in which the Expatriate was able to avoid being hunted down by the Highbloods. It was with your money that he eventually managed to bribe them into letting him build this place. And you think he wasted it, the large stone heap looks ugly in your eyes. But it looked already ugly when you were here last time. And the man has a debt with you, and you are here to square it. While you walk up the long staircase to his front door, you ponder on your own debt. You suppose you could call it a debt in blood, not in wealth. Will the rebels yearn for blue blood when you join them? Is the Disciple such a troll? You’ve only seen her once. And she was a pathetic heap of tears, back at the Sufferer’s execution. You wonder in what condition she will be now. Especially since Redglare is with you. The last thing you want is for her rage, if she indeed wants you dead, to backfire on your matesprit. But you have to shake all of that out of your head as you ask for Latula’s staff.

 

‘Sure.’ She hands you the white weapon. You use it to bang hard on the heavy front door of the building. The sound somewhat echoes, so there must be a long corridor behind it. A pair of light footsteps tipple behind the door.

 

‘Now that doesn’t sound like him,’ Latula says.

 

‘He has servants,’ you reply. You sound a bit nervous. The door opens on a crack, a pair of mustard-yellow eyes stare at you. Then the troll opens the door completely. ‘Marquise!’ he says with a small bow. ‘The Executor isn’t expecting you.’

 

‘I didn’t have the time to inform him.’ You walk up further and the yellowblood hastily steps aside.

 

‘O-of course not. Everyone here knows that you were almost executed.’ He leads you and Redglare through a corridor. ‘And we all think that Neophyte Redglare is dead. Whipped to shreds, they say. But now we know that those were-’

 

‘I’d stop thinking so much if I were you,’ Latula says. She is just tall enough to look down upon Darkleer’s servant. For a split second, you think she’s going to hit him. But then she slows down her steps to walk beside you. You give her a small smile. As you walk further, the servant says: ‘I’ll bring you to the main chamber. Darkleer is there.’ He straightens his yellow suspenders that hold up his black trousers. Two stripes run down the fabric on his legs, also in yellow. He also wears a heavy black shirt with his sign on it. When you’re in the chamber he talked about, you see the Expatriate. He’s sitting behind a large table and has his broad back turned to the door. His intricate helmet is lying to the left of him.

 

‘Good afternoon to you, Horuss,’ you say.

To his credit, he doesn’t flinch. The big man simply stands up from the stool and turns to you. ‘Marquise, what a surprise. And Neophyte Redglare too.’ He strides towards you two. The indigo accents on his black clothing suit the somewhat gloomy interior if his hive well. ‘Will you clean the table? And get the others too,’ he says to the yellowblood, who runs up a staircase to the right of the room. ‘I strongly assume you are here to stay for a time?’ He puts a lot of accent on the word “strongly”.

 

‘As long as is necessary.’ You nod slowly.

 

‘I assume you have guestrooms?’ Redglare asks. She taps with her staff in an irregular rhythm on the ground. She’s tensed, and you don’t blame her. From up close, Darkleer easily towers over the both of you.

 

‘I do,-’

 

His servants are back. There are three of them. One bronze, two yellowbloods. ‘- if you would follow him upstairs.’ The Expatriate points with one huge arm at the bronzeblood. The lanky youth leads you up the staircase.

 

‘He has thwo rooms, or would you prefer one?’ he lisps. The quirk in his voice reveals his jest.

 

But Redglare says: ‘One room’s just fine.’

 

Taken aback, he struggles to form an apt reply. ‘Are you thwo… morails?’

 

Now it’s your time to grin. You softly squeeze Latula’s hand as you tell him: ‘Matesprits.’

 

‘Ma-mathespriths?’

 

You’re starting to find his stuttering annoying. ‘Yes, matesprits! Now show us our room!’

 

‘Y-yes Mindfang.’ He hurries on. ‘Here ith is.’

 

You step into the guestroom and hear him scurry away.

 

‘You didn't have to scare him like that,’ Redglare says while putting down her backpack.

 

‘I guess so. Slow-minded trolls annoy me though.’ You also shrug off your pack. The guestroom isn't all that bad. There's a window with view of the sea, a single large bed on the right side of the room and when you step into the bathroom, you find both a bathtub and some kind of glass cabin.

 

‘Nice ablution trap.’ Latula has also come to take a look.

 

‘Ablution trap? Why, do you mean the load gaper?’ You can't help it.

 

She tries to cover up her grin with a hand. ‘No, that wide, most likely ceramic, containment space of hot water, that you can use to bathe in. I have no idea what other words you highbloods might use for it, but it would not be as pleasant to take a dive into the toilet, I think.’

 

You're completely blown away for a second. Then you turn laughingly to the mirror. ‘By the Empress’s hairy asshole, I look like a mess. No wonder that those servants acted like that.’ There's sand everywhere in your hair. A smudge of charcoal from one of the fires you lit is smeared on your cheek. You spy a tangled lock of hair on your head and suddenly, you're starting to get very aware of the fact that you smell like sweat. ‘I'm going to take a shower,’ you say to Latula.

 

‘What’s a shower?’ she asks.

 

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ You only know what it is because Darkleer showed you the last time you were here. ‘It’s a contraption that Horrus invented.’ While opening the door of a glass cabin next to the tub, you explain: ‘I suppose it’s sort of like an ablution tr- eh, a bathtub, but the water comes from above. Look, you twist these nubs here, and then…’ Water spurts out of the shower. Latula jumps back.

 

‘Aah! Cold! That thing’s… special, but it might not be a bad idea to take one of these “showers” myself,’ she says. ‘We’re both looking like tramps.’

 

‘Or you could take a bath in the load gaper,’ you suggest. She swats at you as you walk into the room again. You hang your heavy coat on the coat rack and put your boots on the ground under it. It seems that your hair isn’t the only thing that has suffered from the hike you made. The red of your boots has somewhat faded to a dark shade of pink on some places. As soon as you’re at a place where you can get that eyepatch, you’re going to commision a pair of new boots as well. Looking sideways at your matesprit, you see she’s still wearing the tight pants from her Legislacerator uniform. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get her a new pair. While you pick a soft towel from the small table in the bathroom, you wonder how long it will take to fix you. The words “fix you” don’t sound that good in your head, but you can’t phrase it differently. You secretly know that a new eye won’t be possible. From the way Redglare looked into it at the courtblock, from the solid redness you see in the mirror, it’s just too badly damaged. You can’t even discern the seven pupils in it anymore. You blame Latula nor Pyralspite for it, they only did their work back at the battle. Perhaps the Expatriate can make a lens of some sort for you, so you will at least be able to get some kind of vision back in the eye. But you will never be able to see into your oracle again, you know. The warm water washing away the sand and dirt feels like heaven. All those mornings you washed in the cold sea weren’t the worst thing, you’ve done that plenty of times. Mostly on your ship, when there was no time to heat water for you. But there’s just something about the refreshingness of a hot shower or a warm bath that you can’t deny. You hear Redglare come into the bathroom and she puts something with a _clunk_ on the sink. ‘There’s a hairbrush for you,’ she says. ‘And don’t worry, I can’t see you with all the steam in that shower cabin.’

 

‘That’s fine. Even if you could,’ you answer.

 

‘That bronzeblood from just yet asked if he could bring your coat to the scrubbing box… Now of course, this little lowblood has no idea what that could be…’

 

‘It’s a laundry machine of some sort that Darkleer invented. Or just a tub full of hot water and soap.’ You make a mental note to throw a wet towel at her as soon as you can. This low- and highblood language joke is getting out of hand. ‘And tell him that he can. Just don’t say anything about the gold in it, if he asks why it’s heavier than it’s supposed to be.’

 

‘I’ll do that. He also said that the third floor is absolutely off-limits for guests. It apparently contains “works of highblood art”. And those are supposedly too high for our eyes.’ You hear her close the bathroom door and laugh from the room. When you turn off the hot water and start toweling yourself dry, you feel yourself starting to think about the blood debt again. Redglare still doesn’t know who exactly that slave was. You guess her injured state made her woozy enough not to ask further questions. But you’re going to have to tell her. Which probably also means that you’re going to tell her about what that slave did for you. And what you did to her. You could finance at least a good bit of the rebellion, when you’ve dug up all your gold and treasure. Will that be enough for the Disciple to forgive you?

While doubting on that, you brush your hair and put on your clothing. Latula immediately disappears into the bathroom when you’re out, and you start unpacking. Redglare’s boots on the left side of the bed are a clear indicator to which side she has claimed. The bowl, plate and flask you quickly put on the cabinet on your side of the bed. The last bits of food you have left stay in your backpack while your other purse, sword are thrown onto the bed. Your dagger you keep on you. A small brown book on Latula’s bedside cabinet catches your eye. When you open it, you see a text in what’s known as the Old Language. It was supposedly spoken by your ancestors, and some texts from that time are still available in it. You, however, never took the time to learn the tedious language. It seems that Latula has, though. And you wonder what’s written in the book. You allow yourself a short rest, sit down on the bed and close your eyes. From the bathroom you hear the sound of the water stop. When Redglare comes out of the bathroom, all tidied up, you throw the towel at her as you promised yourself. She elegantly dodges and catches it.

 

‘Nice one, you almost had me there.’

 

‘Almost had you… you’re kidding,’ you say. Her reaction time is absurdly short. But what do you expect from a trained prosecutor?

 

‘No really-’ she spreads both the towels out over the windowsill. ‘- it missed me by a hornlenght.’  

 

‘If you say so. Should we go down?’

 

When she says yes, you jump off the bed and put on your boots. The hat you leave in the room, there’s no need for it now. When you arrive in the main chamber again, you see the two yellowbloods lift some kind of contraption from the table. They’re both using their psionic powers to levitate and move the thing.

 

‘You may put it in the right corner,’ the Expatriate says. When the machine is safely put down, he gestures at the now clean table. ‘Take a seat, if you please.’

 

‘If you don’t mind, Horuss, I’d like to talk in private with you. Just you, me and Lat-, Redglare,’ you say.

 

Darkleer tells his three servants to go upstairs. They oblige, only the psionic girl says: ‘If the High Marquise has any other wishes…’

 

‘I am sorry about her words,’ Horuss says when they’re gone. ‘Not every troll is mindful of their strong language.’

 

‘Then why do you have her as a servant?’ you inquire.

 

‘She volunteered to retreat into exile with me and has a keen eye for mechanics. I couldn’t let her strong skills with metalworking go to waste. And she is a fairly strong psionic. Of course, nowhere near the Helmsman’s level, but-’

 

‘You’re trailing off. I’m here with a request for you,’ you stop him. ‘I think you’ve already seen that I’m missing an arm?’

 

‘My goodness, yes. It has already occurred to me that you might need a suitably strong prosthetic.’ Darkleer moves one hand up to your shoulder. Without the coat, it’s easier to show him. When you want to try unwrapping the bandage, Redglare stands up from her chair and does it for you. Slowly and really carefully, she takes it off. ‘That’s looking a lot better,’ she softly says.

 

And she’s right. The blue scar tissue looks relatively smooth. You can barely see that it was once a torn-up wound now. The Expatriate pulls off the gloves he wears and traces the little bit of arm you have left.

 

‘I’m going to make an encasing for the stump. To that I will attach a completely robotic arm for you. I will make the arm first, then the encasing. And I suspect you want it to be strong?’

 

‘Make it more powerful than my arm was. At least I will gain something that way.’ You are aware of the fact that there’s a certain longing in your voice.

 

‘I will, Marquise. To do that, I’ll connect the intricate wirings that will go into the mechanical work to your nerves. That way, you will be able to control it as you would with a real body part. Furthermore, I will make it waterproof, that only seems suitable for a seafarer like you. By enclosing the delicate inner mechanics in a series of covering plates and scales, it will be sturdy and especially fitting-’

 

‘You’re rambling again. Just make it as good as you can.’ This is going in the same direction as the times where you were offering him protection. A grave look stands on his face.

 

‘Of course, Aranea,’ he says. You shiver, and wish he didn't use your real name. As he puts on his gloves again, he continues: ‘If you wish, I can start this very evening.’

 

‘The quicker the better. And how about this?’ you ask him while showing your red eye. Next to you, Latula frowns.

 

‘Do you think… that he can build you a new one?’

 

‘He might.’

 

The Expatriate is searching in his mechanics’ suit. Out of one of the pockets, he gets a small lens. ‘If you mind tilting your head back a little bit, Marquise?’

 

When you do that, he looks into the damaged eye. Softly shaking his head, he peers into the lens. ‘I can only see that this once was your vision eightfold eye. Whatever happened to it has destroyed the sensitive nerves at the back of the eye. If that wasn’t the case, I could try building an entirely new one and then replacing it completely, which would involve-’

 

‘Just say it’s too bad already!’ Redglare is the one to cut him off this time. From the look on her face, you see she’s thinking the same thing as you. Something that involves Darkleer “replacing” your entire eye with a robotic one sounds worse than him tinkering with your arm. He says it’s getting later.

 

‘I will tell my acquaintances to make us a meal.’

 

Then he head upstairs and you and Latula are left alone for a short time. Your matesprit wraps your stump back in the bandage. ‘What a weird man,’ she softly says.

‘He’s a bit quirky, that’s true. And he talks too much, so it’s good that he has something to do now. If he wasn’t making me a robo-arm, we’d have to endure much more of his blabbering. Luckily he hasn’t started about the Disciple yet.’

 

‘Do you think we should tell him? About the rebellion? Maybe he would want to join too.’

 

You pull your chair closer to hers and carefully lay your head on her shoulder. Enjoying the feeling with your eyes closed, you say: ‘Well, maybe we should, maybe not. I want to wait until he has the arm finished and attached. If he’s against it, at least I’ll have my prosthetic.’

 

Darkleer stays away for a long time. You look around the room. It’s almost round in shape, apart from the straight wall where the entrance of the tunnel you came in by is. The large table at which you’re sitting is pretty much the only large object in the space. A few bits of machinery lay scattered around in the corners. The big staircase to the higher levels of the hive seems to be the only way out, apart from the tunnel. Suddenly one of the things you were thinking about in the room pops back into your head. ‘Redglare,’ you softly say.

 

‘Hmm?’ She lays an arm around your waist.

 

‘You really don’t like pirate towns, I reckon?’

 

‘No, but from the way you say that-’ she lays her hand on your leg now. ‘- you’re going to take me to one.’

 

‘A quick stop before going to my hive. It’s on the way there and there’s a good inn.’ You’ve decided to surprise her with the coat and trousers you’re planning on gifting her.

 

‘Right. I guess I’ll just have to go with you then. There’s a chance of someone recognizing me though, that wouldn’t be good.’

 

‘When you have a reputation like me, everything is accepted by the common folks. Even being in flushed love with an ex-Legislacerator.’

 

‘If you say so, Mindfang.’ She accents your title. Then suddenly pulls her hand off your thigh.

 

‘Hey, give that back!’ you say.

 

She turns the dagger she’s snagged from you around in her fingers. ‘No.’

 

‘How did you even see that? It was in a-’

 

‘Hidden pocket?’

 

‘Yes.’ You make a futile attempt at reaching for the weapon. She holds it out of your grasp.

 

‘As a Legislacerator you learn to see those things,’ she explains. In the training she’s been given, she learned to know where a hiding space for a small weapon like that is most likely placed. According to her, it’s either in someone’s boots, near the shoulder of a coat or on the the upper leg of the trousers with a little bit of extra thick fabric. The last bit was why she saw your hidden pocket. You have to confirm a big part of her explanation, those really are the tricks that, in her words, criminals use. She gives you the dagger back and you slip it into the pocket again. When footsteps sound on the stairway, you two quickly get out of your semi-embrace. The two psionics carry a couple of dishes into the room. _It must be hard to keep all of that stable,_ you think as they put it down onto the table.

 

‘Look, Marquise, real food.’ A toothy smile is on Redglare’s face as she whispers that. And you can’t deny that you in fact _are_ craving something a bit more substantial than soup and oats. While having dinner, you think that that’s one of the things you like most about Redglare. She just seems to read your mind, when she sees what you’d like most at that moment. You’ve gotten lucky with the matespritship you’ve found in her. Of course, luck isn’t a thing you have a lack of, but it could’ve been another failed one such as with Dualscar. The grumpy yellowblood girl is seated between you and Latula. Both the male yellowblood and his tall bronze-blooded companion are sitting along with the Expatriate in front of you. A water can is lifted by the boy psionic and he fills the glasses.

 

‘I suppose you want something stronger, Marquise?’ Darkleer says. ‘I have wine, but you would strongly prefer rum, I think.’

 

‘I… no, just water.’ You've stopped drinking ever since Dualscar left you. Except for the night after, though the sudden appearance of the Handmaid on your ship in the middle of the night was enough to scare you so sufficiently that you dropped your bottle on the deck. Besides, rum makes you think of the days you were being cared for by _her_. Lying in your cabin, unable to move or sometimes even talk normally. With only alcohol as painkiller. She knew it wasn't good for you. But she knew better than to object.

 

‘Hey, Marquise.’ Redglare taps softly on your hand.

 

You give her a weak smile. ‘I'm still in here.’ You must have spaced out for a few seconds. The dinner is not something you can complain about. As you put a sizable portion of a meaty dish onto your plate, the psionic girl tells you what it is.

 

‘Pot roast of oinkbeast…eh, pig, sorry.’ She quickly looks at Darkleer. ‘Mind my lowblood words. With sufficient seasoning. You should eat some mashed potatoes with it.’ She nods at the dish.

 

‘It's tasty,’ Latula says.

 

‘Did you make this?’ you ask the psionic.

 

The girl nods. ‘Yes. Usually he cooks-’ she points at the Expatriate. ‘- but since we have… guests.’ The rest of the sentence she leaves floating in the air.

 _Some trolls still don't want me around,_ you think. It's unlikely that that will ever change. As you eat, you listen to the ramblings of the Expatriate. He goes on and on about the Disciple. About how he and she were destined for each. How their blood castes drove them apart. You halfheartedly start to think about telling him about the rebellion. On the opposite side of the table, you see the bronzeblood sigh. With a few taps of your fork, you get his attention, and flick your eyebrows at Darkleer.

 

‘And, how ith it going with that musclebeasth roboth you are making,’ he asks Horuss.

 

‘Ah, my magnificently strong work-in-progress,’ Darkleer says. You swear that his eyes start to water a bit when he starts about his obsession with hoofbeasts. ‘Yes, I finally managed to make a working mechanical ambrosia collection system-’

 

You have trouble not laughing, or gagging. Redglare is snickering behind her hand.

 

‘Nice save,’ the grumpy yellowblood whispers. ‘This is better than his whining about the Disciple.’

 

Once you are done eating, the psionics carry the dishes upstairs. You turn to Horuss. ‘When will we start?’

 

‘I will get the necessary equipment now. In the meantime, your matesprit can go to your guestroom.’

 

‘Will this take the entire night then?’ Latula sharply asks.

 

‘Perhaps longer.’ With those words he heads upstairs too.

_Neophyte Redglare 5_

 

You have an odd feeling about this. ‘I don't like what he said. It gives me the creeps,’ you tell Aranea.

 

She assures you that it's all right. ‘The man knows what he's doing. Remember that, even though he's exiled, he still is one of the best mechanics of Alternia. The best, most likely.’ After a small pause, she adds: ‘And his choice of words is strange indeed. But well, there are multiple things that are strange about him.’

 

‘Be happy he doesn't stuff STRONG into his sentence this time.’ The mustard-blooded girl walks up to you through the dark room. ‘He's too busy drooling about that gross hoofbeast robot he's building. Shall I bring you up?’

 

‘Gladly,’ you say. You want to give Aranea a kiss or hug before you go, but the stern eyes of the servant make you doubt. Her next sentence surprises you all the more.

 

‘Go ahead, I didn't see anything that will happen the next minute.’ She crosses her arms, the broad yellow lines on her leather jacket reflecting the glow of the lights on the high ceiling.

 

A crushing hug and long lasting kiss is what she needs to forget. ‘Stay safe, okay?’ you whisper.

 

‘I'll try my best,’ Aranea whispers back.

 

As the girl takes you up to the guestroom, she says: ‘I still don't get what you find so attractive in her. I mean, she killed a lot of trolls, right?’

 

You sigh. ‘In every troll is something good. It just takes time before you see that in some.’ In your sentence, the “you” has more accent than the “some”. The psionic seems to get the point.

 

‘Right… well, have a good night, I guess,’ she says while you step into the guest room. The empty right side of the bed feels strange. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that Mindfang has to spend the night on a hard table. At least she’ll get a new arm, you think. But you can’t put the uncomfortable feeling aside. There’s something unnerving about this place. The gloominess of the interior, the grey stone where everything is made out of, the isolated location, it all seems off-putting. At least your small apartment close to the court block was what you could call “snug”. You can’t call it a hive, it’s not something you’ve designed. Of course, there’s nothing better than your actual hive. The system of treehouses, connected by bridges and rope ladders, high up in the canopy. The place where you spend your first six sweeps. When you close you eyes, you see the place. But it takes mere seconds before the only thing you see are flames. Flames bursting out of your trees, flames destroying your dearest belongings, flames burning your hive, still visible from Pyralspite’s back as he carried you away. You turn on your side and open your eyes again. The darkness is soothing in a way. But the eerie silence is pressing against your eardrums. The Marquise is always talking, babbling about her adventures on sea, softly whispering about things that make her more vulnerable or cooing in your ear. Now there’s only the sound of your own heartbeat.

 

With a shock you open your eyes. You must have fallen asleep somehow. Your breathing is still in overdrive, but it’s slowing down. It’s still silent around you, why have you woken up? You sit upright and listen. A faint sound is hearable from the room below. Metal, the clunking sounds of pieces of metal. The Expatriate’s deep voice says something. More steely tinkling noises. You don’t hear Aranea reply. It worries you more than you want to admit to yourself.

In the morning, you slowly untangle yourself from the mess of your blankets. The Marquise isn’t with you.  _ Oh god, she had to spend the entire night down there?  _ you think. You expected that the Expatriate would at least give her half a night’s rest. As you wash and dress, you try not to start worrying again. Of course the man knows what he’s doing. While combing your hair until it’s sleek and only the tips curl up a little, you hear footsteps pad up the stairs. 

 

‘Neophyte, are you awake?’ 

 

‘I am,’ you curtly reply. The snarky face of the psionic girl isn’t the first troll you want to see in the morning. 

 

‘Well, if you get down, there’s breakfast. Don’t… be like, shocked or something. I’ve put your clothes in front of the door.’ She leaves again.  

 

The mere fact that she said “shocked” already makes you shocked. You retrieve your clothes, a towel wrapped around you. They’re warm and pressed. It looks like Darkleer’s invention got all the dirt from your journey out of the fabric. When you have dressed and prepare to head downwards, you doubt about the Signless necklace. Deciding against it, you safely tuck it into the side pocket of your backpack. As you descend the stairs, you start to walk faster and faster, anxious about what you’ll find down there. The boy psionic idly sits on the bottom of the stairs. He fiddles with some gears and perks up, startled, when you walk past him. 

 

‘G’morning, Neophyte.’ 

 

‘Good morning,’ you say, as coldly as you have said to his companion. You’re not stalling it, and audibly gasp when you get a glance of your matesprit. From her position on the table, she manages a smile. 

 

‘H-hey.’ 

 

You rush over to her. She just keeps lying flat on her back, and you soon see why. Both her legs and her arm are strapped to the surface of the table with broad leather bands. A mess of metal wires sticks out of her stump. You touch her face, her grey skin is a bit clammy. She presses her head into the palm of your hand. ‘Have you slept well, Latula?’ 

 

‘Not really, I was worried about you. And now I see that my worries were perfectly reasonable.’ You tap softly on the binds on her arm. She cringes, just a little bit. ‘I'll tell Darkleer to untie you.’ 

 

‘No, don't do that. It's necessary, he said. Otherwise I move too much and I'll mess up his wirings.’ She nods at the strands of metal that are coming out of her arm. ‘Don't touch them, they're the replacements for my nerves.’ 

 

They hardly look like nerves too you. Each wire is made out of thinner ones. Once you get a closer look, you see that Aranea's wound is open again. An indigo colored towel lies under her stump, to soak up the blood. All of the metal wires seem to be fastened somewhere within the flesh. You ask her, quite angrily, if Darkleer cut open the wound. She tells you yes, because he had to. You're getting a bit tired of that answer. ‘He is hurting you. He is opening your just-healed wounds and he has strapped you to a table.’ 

 

‘Latula, please, accept what he's doing right now. I don't like it as well, and it's me he's doing it too. But I need that arm, and only he can make the best of the best for me.’ There is a weird kind of meekness in her words. Like the night made her lose more than just blood. A look of vague pain is in her half-lidded eyes. Darkleer returns, and notices you. Oblivious to the fury that must be in your eyes, he politely gestures to the part of the long table that doesn't have your bound matesprit on it. 

 

‘Good morning Redglare, there is breakfast if you would like.’ 

 

Gingerly, you eat. The loaf tastes like parchment, you don't even pay attention to what you smear on it. Instead, you look at the Expatriate and what in the name of your lusus he is doing to Mindfang. He picks up another wire with a pair of pliers and grabs the flesh bit of her arm. You almost want to tell him to be careful, when he sticks the metal into her arm. The wooden sole of Aranea's boot clacks down hard on the table as she strains against the straps. Her face scrunches up in pain as Darkleer reaches out to some kind of  _ machine.  _ A small electrical spark sounds when he does  _ something  _ in her arm that makes her whimper. Your mouth turns dry and you have trouble swallowing your bite of food. ‘This is one of the nerves that will go into the mechanical fingers. Now I will need to split it into more ends, to which I will eventually attach sensor pads.’ 

 

The Executor’s explanation doesn't do you much good. He leans in close and exchanges a few whispered words with the Marquise. When you inquire what he said, he replies: 

 

‘I offered her again to bring some painkillers. Personally, I strongly recommend them.’ 

 

‘And I already said yesterday that I don't want them. Piss off with your painkillers and get back to putting strands of metal into my nerves,’ Mindfang says.  


End file.
